


Reflections

by Atiaran



Series: Family / History [1]
Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Drama, Family, Family Drama, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-29
Updated: 2019-08-03
Packaged: 2020-07-24 22:31:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 22,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20022085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Atiaran/pseuds/Atiaran
Summary: The Scouts learn their mothers have cancer.





	1. Chapter 1

**Standard disclaimer:** None of the Team Fortress 2 characters, places, etc. in this story are mine but are the property of Valve. No copyright infringement is intended by their use in this story.

 **Author’s note:** Somehow I blundered into Team Fortress 2 with the “Meet the Team” videos, starting with “Meet the Pyro,” and this is the result. I haven’t given up on my Fallout crossover – rest assured, Fallout fans – but this fic popped into my head and wouldn’t go away. Partly an exploration of the RED and BLU mercs’ “oddly paired lives,” as Red Scout thinks in the fic; partly a chance to take the stylized, off-the-wall world of TF2 and force it into contact with the real world and real consequences; partly an examination of Scout’s relationship with his parents – _both_ of them – I guess I’m not really sure what this fic is. All I know is it demanded to be written and I _had_ to get it out of my head so I could get back to my myriad other projects that it jumped the line ahead of.

It’s complete; there should be maybe four chapters total, and I will post them as they are betaed. And definitely thanks, as always, to my beta **LadyKate1** , for betaing a fic in a fandom she doesn’t follow!

* * *

For Scout, the day’s battle ended with a baseball bat to the head, courtesy of his rival. Nothing unusual there; but as he lay groaning on the ground, waiting for his rival to finish him off and send him back to respawn, the other Scout hesitated. He looked down at him, and even through the pain, Scout thought there was something … off, there. Something not quite right – strangely _subdued_.

“Yo, Red,” the other Scout said. “Call your ma.”

“Call … my ma?” Scout groaned. “What – _why?_ ”

“Jus’ do it,” Blue Scout said. “I’m tellin’ ya. Call her.” He smashed his bat down and Scout’s world flared white; the next moment, he was waking up in the familiar four walls of the respawn room.

The rest of the team were already there; chattering loudly about the battle, they headed out, back to the sleeping quarters. Scout lingered, rubbing the back of his head and thinking about what Blue had said. For some reason a vague sense of unease hung over him. _Call my ma?_ _Why would he ask that?_

“Eh … why not,” he said aloud with a shrug. He was overdue for his weekly phone call to her anyway. He headed out to the intel room to make the call.

Picking up the phone, he dialed his ma’s number, but the phone just rang without answer. As the tones echoed down the line, Scout’s vague unease deepened. Finally, he hung up. _Well, I’ll try back later,_ he told himself. _I think it’s her bridge night anyway._

Still, it nagged at him as he went downstairs to the dining hall – it was Engineer’s night to cook, which usually meant Tex-Mex of some kind. Engie was one of the best cooks on the team; Scout could make lasagna and that was about it. Engie’s delicious “Headquarters Chili” helped push Scout’s worry out of his mind, and put him in such a good mood that after dinner he managed to dodge Soldier, who was ranting about “unacceptable performance from a platoon of lame-brained maggots” and accepted Sniper’s challenge to a game of darts.

“Dis _sucks!_ ” he complained fifteen minutes later, gloomily studying a dart board with Sniper’s darts all nestled in a neat grouping in the center ring. “Now I remember why I never play darts with ya.”

“Bloody hell, you’re awful,” Sniper chuckled, pulling his throws out of the foam-studded board.

“That didn’t count! Just a warm-up!”

“I’m ready when you are – _if_ you think you’ve a chance.”

“I got more’n a _chance,_ pally! I’ll show ya!” He stepped back to throwing distance, taking aim – when Engie clattered to the top of the stairs.

“ _Scout! Call for ya!”_

Scout stopped with the dart still between his fingers. A bright cold flash went through him, a horrible foreboding, though he couldn’t have said why; roughly he shook it off. _“Who is it?”_

_“I dunno. Some woman. Says it’s important.”_

_“Tell ‘er I’ll be right there!”_ Scout called back. He handed the darts off to Sniper, who raised an eyebrow.

“Girlfriend, mate?”

“Hey, why d’ya think I carry a bat? With a face like dis – “ he pointed to himself “ – I gotta beat the ladies off with a stick! Don’t go nowheres, you still owe me a game.”

“Ya mean, I owe you an ass-whoopin.” Sniper chuckled.

“You _wish,_ ” Scout replied smartly. With that parting shot he bounded up the stairs to where Engie was waiting and took the phone with a careless, “Thanks, Overalls.” He held the smooth handle to his ear. 

“Yo. Scout heah.”

He instantly recognized the voice that came to him: high, shrill and somewhat nasal, a voice that he remembered from his childhood. “Jeremy? Shirley’s little boy? Oh, it’s so good ta heah from you, I been tryin ta get hold a ya all day – “

 _Marge,_ he recognized, one of his ma’s church friends and next-door neighbor. “Yeah, it’s _Scout_ now, Marge, okay?” he said with an uncomfortable glance at Engie, who was tinkering with a dispenser nearby. Like most of his ma’s friends, Marge had no volume control and he just bet Engie could hear every word. “And I been at … at work all day, just got back now – “

“At work, you say? By the way what is it you do, young man?” Marge’s voice belled out of the phone, “Shirley nevah was too clear about that – “

“I’m in … in _construction,_ all right?” Technically, Scout supposed, it was somewhat true. He turned his back to Engie, in the futile hope that he could mute Marge’s squealing.

“ _Construction,_ eh?” Marge cooed over the phone lines. “That’s a good job these days. Ya know they been talkin’ about puttin’ in that big dig on I-93, bet theah’d be a _lotta_ jobs for a bright young man like you – if you was ta come home ovah Christmas I could talk to my bruddah in the plannin’ department, see if he could get ya something – we could have dinner wid him an’ my niece Linda,” she added coyly, “such a _nice_ girl and so smaht, she’s in nursin’ school – “

“Not _that_ kinda construction.” Scout rolled his eyes. “Look, Marge, didja call for some reason? I got things ta do – “

“Oh yeah. Dat’s right.” Abruptly Marge switched gears, her nasal voice growing solemn. “Jeremy, I’m so sawry …. Your ma’s in the hospital.”

A single breath, then “ _What?!”_ A chill passed down Scout’s body. His hand tightened on the receiver. “ _Why?”_

The tinny words echoed in his ear. “She’s got the cancer, Jeremy. Us church gals took her in last week. We woulda called you earlier but she didn’t want ya to worry. I’m so, _so_ sawry.”

The world rocked around Scout; his knees wobbled. The breath rushed from his body like he’d taken one of Demoman’s explosive charges in the gut. He was barely aware of Engineer setting his tools down and staring at him in alarm, but all his attention was on the voice coming out of the line. “What … _cancer?_ Whaddaya mean? How can Ma have _cancer?_ That’s _bullshit_!” He laughed wildly.

Marge’s bright, brassy voice echoed on and on, attenuated by distance. “She hadn’t been feelin’ good foh a long time, coughin’, gettin’ these shootin’ pains, night sweats, an’ all that stuff, but you know your ma – thought it was the change, didn’t wanna go see no doctors, they’re all quacks, she said – our friend Vera sez she thinks Shoiley was scared ta go ‘cause she knew it was somethin’ bad and didn’ wanna find out. But she jus’ kept gettin worse an’ worse until finally a buncha us church gals ganged up on her an’ _made_ her go. We took her ta Doctah Goldman at Mass General, he did a buncha tests an’ some X-rays an’ that’s when he said it was cancah. He said it was real serious an’ she shoulda come in months ago – “

Scout could barely believe what he was hearing. It was like he was listening through a long tube, the words sounded faint and distant. “What – “ He was only half-aware he was speaking. “What, like – what kinda cancer? Like – like skin cancer?”

“Lung cancah,” Marge answered. “You know how she was always smokin dem cigarettes. Doctah Goldman said she had ta have an operation right away, so I told Shirley no mattah _what_ she thought, you needed ta know. You – you really oughtta come home, Jeremy. We tried t’get word to your bruddahs, but ya know dey’re all ovah seas servin God knows where. But if you can come home at all – “

“I – I – “ Scout floundered, clinging on to the receiver as if it was a lifeline. Thoughts swirled in his head, conflicting and colliding with each other: his mother, the narrow streets of his old neighborhood, his seven strapping brothers – his comrades and teammates, the battles against BLU team – “I – I don’t know. Yeah – yeah, I’ll try, Marge. I’ll try. I don’t know but I’ll try. Dat’s – dat’s all I can say. Tell Ma I love her. I gotta go.”

“But _Jeremy –_ “ Marge began, and suddenly Scout couldn’t stand to listen to that voice a moment longer. Breathing hard, he slammed the receiver down in the cradle hard enough to make the phone jump.

The _*click*_ of the receiver setting down seemed to unhinge his limbs all at once. His strength oozed out of him and he reeled and caught himself against the wall.

“Whoa. Steady there, son.” Engie’s reassuring drawl reached his ears. He felt the stocky man’s hands gripping his arms, guiding him to Engie’s own lawn chair. “Y’all right there? Looked like ya had quite a shock.”

Scout scarcely heard him. _Cancer,_ he was thinking. _How can it be cancer?_ He sat down abruptly on the Engineer’s chair before he fell down.

“Yeah … yeah,” he managed. “Yeah. I – I’m all right.” His mind was racing faster than his feet, around and around, always circling back to Marge’s voice on the phone. And then suddenly his thoughts jumped to his rival. _Blue – did he know -- ? But how – unless –_

He was so shaken that he didn’t hear Soldier’s heavy footsteps until the man was at his elbow, and a rough voice exploded in his ear. “What are you doing just sitting around, maggot? After your _pathetic_ performance out there today the only place _you_ should be sitting on is my _foot_ wedged up _your ass_! Get up and drop and give me twenty, maggot!”

Engie reached out to him. “Say Soldier – now’s not a good time – “

“Now’s the _perfect_ time!” Soldier growled. “On your feet, maggot! You’re going to run five miles for me! Then you’re going to run those miles _backward_ so you can _un-run_ them and run them _again!_ Only this time _sideways!_ And always twirling, twirling, _twirling_ toward _Freedom!_ Now get out there – “

All at once Scout had had enough. Even on a good day, Soldier could be hard to take, and now, Scout was really not in the mood. In a flash he was up from his chair, right into Soldier’s face. “Back the hell _OFF!”_

Soldier stared at him through his helmet as if Scout had grown two heads. “ _What_ did you just say to me, maggot?”

“Yeah, ya heard me, I said _BACK OFF!_ ” Scout shouted again. “I just found out my mom’s got fuckin’ _cancer,_ all right? So save yah stupid bullshit for – “

“Yer mother has _cancer?”_ Without missing a beat, Soldier growled, “Then what the hell are you doing _here_ , maggot? Any red-blooded American boy should be at his mother’s bedside! Compassionate leave, recruit. I’ll see to it. Start packing, we’ll have you on the next plane to Boston tonight!”

The helmeted man did an about-face and marched off, shouting orders and commands to no one in particular. The silence left behind fell like an anvil. Scout gaped after him, half unable to believe what had just happened. _What the hell –_

“Well,” Engineer chuckled. “I do believe that’s th’ first time _anyone’s_ managed to stop Soldier in the middle of one a’ his tirades. Not only that, but he’s ‘parently decided to make himself useful.” As Scout looked up at him blankly, Engie qualified, “Compassionate leave. So you can go an’ see yer ma.”

“Oh … yeah.” Scout managed a laugh, but it felt weak. He sank back down in Engineer’s lawn chair, putting his head in his hands. His guts still felt shaky and hollowed out. “Ya think – ya think he’ll actually do it? The – th’ compassionate leave, I mean.”

“Oh yeah, he will,” came Engie’s calm, reassuring voice. “If there’s one thing Ah know about Soldier, it’s that he don’t joke when it comes to people’s mamas.” Scout felt Engie’s warm, soothing hand on his shoulder again. “Jus’ sit there for a while an’ catch your breath, son, while I work on this Dispenser. Take ya time. No rush.”

“Th-thanks, Engie.” Scout sat for a moment, trying to take some deep breaths. It was no good. Words just seemed to flow out of him. “I just – I just can’t believe it. She was nevah sick when I was a kid, not even a cold or nothin. How can – how can she h-have cancah? It can’t be true. It’s gotta be bullshit, or something … “ He gave another one of those shaky laughs.

Engineer was silent for a while, his wrench clanking as he turned bolts and tightened nuts. Scout barely noticed, he was so lost in his own troubles. He almost missed it when Engie spoke again.

“Ya know, my wife had that there cancer.”

As the words penetrated, Scout sat up. “Ya _wife?_ ” He looked over at Engineer sharply, startled. “Engie, I didn’ know you was married.”

“Yep. High school sweethearts, me an’ Daisy. First time Ah saw her I was head over heels. I knew raht there she was the girl Ah was gonna marry.” He chuckled again, but it trailed off. “Uterine sarcoma. What th’ doctors said it was. Found out three years to th’ day after we were married. Hell of an annivers’ry present.” Engineer grunted a bit, tightening a particularly tough bolt. “It’s good that you can be there for your mama, Scout. ‘Specially if your brothers are all overseas. You’re real lucky.”

“Yeah,” Scout said, though inwardly he didn’t feel lucky at all. _Scared shitless, more like._ A question came to him, and, being Scout, he spoke before he thought. “Yo, Engie, yah wife, did she, ah – “

“No.” Engie’s face was unreadable behind his black welding goggles, but his heavy jawline set.

“Oh,” Scout said in a small voice. “Ah – I’m sorry, Engie.”

Engineer acknowledged with a curt nod and went back to tightening the bolt he was working on with a certain vehemence. Leaving Scout to stew in his own worries.

“Well, I – I guess I bettah get packin’,” he said at last. “Latah, Engie.” He jumped up from Engie’s chair and fled to his own room, wishing he could outrun the whole mess as easily.

* * *

One thing about life in the barracks: it was almost impossible to keep a secret – even ones Scout _hadn’t_ shouted at top volume in Soldier’s face. Scout was kicking himself for that even before he made it back to his room. He steeled himself to be the butt of brutal teasing … and was almost dumbfounded when that turned out not to be the case.

The others drifted in and out one at a time while he was packing; Heavy found him first, and pressed a packet of Sandviches into his hands. “For travel,” the big man told him. “Keep up your strength. Need be strong for Mother,” and then enveloped Scout in a crushing hug that left him gasping for air. 

Not ten minutes after he left, Medic drifted in. “If you vant ein second opinion, just let me know, _ja?_ I vill be more zan happy to treat _seine Mutter_ – in ze name of Science, of course.” And he’d given that trademark slightly demented grin.

“Yeah, that’s – that’s great, Medic,” Scout demurred, feeling an uneasy fluttering in his chest – and hearing a muffled cooing, or was it his imagination? “I’ll definitely keep dat in mind, Doc, an’ if it comes up I’ll be soire ta give ya a call – “ _like, never_ , he thought. 

“My pleasure. Vould be _sehr interessant,_ I have several treatments I vould just love to try out – “

“ _Acch,_ ya egghead, stand aside!” thundered Demoman, leaning in the door. As Medic departed, the Scotsman held out two bottles. “Heard about yer mum, ya wee man. Tough break. Here.” He tossed the bottles at Scout who caught them reflexively. “Me precious scrumpy. One fer ya, an’ one fer yer mum. Cure fer what ails ya!” He took a deep swallow from his own bottle, and then slid down the doorframe, mumbling incoherently, to be stepped over by Sniper who spared him a glance.

“This bettah not have nothin’ to do with Jarate,” Scout warned him.

The Kiwi just smiled. “Naow, mate. Just wanted ta wish you an’ yer mum luck and ta say, if there’s anyone either of ya want dead – “ He aimed his index finger. “Boom – headshot. Can always count on me.”

“Thanks, Snipah.” Scout was oddly touched. “But if ya wanna give me a hand – “ He gestured toward Demoman, who had collapsed in a heap and was snoring.

“Sure thing, mate.” Sniper obligingly took the other man by the ankles and with a mighty heave, dragged him out of the doorway as Scout slammed the lid on his suitcase and tried to close the clasps.

Pyro caught up with him at the bottom of the stairs, the black pools of its mask goggles expressionless but its head tipped at an enquiring angle. He startled Scout, who jumped back – even after all this time, Pyro still freaked him out a little as he did everyone except Engie – but Pyro stopped him with a hand on his arm.

“Mmmmph! Mmph mm-mmph.” The little creature held out a Balloonicorn, tilting its head in an oddly appealing way. “Mmph mm mmphrr.”

Scout hesitantly took the Balloonicorn in his hands. He was never sure how much Pyro was actually aware of the world around him – her – it – but this seemed to indicate at least some knowledge of what was going on. He tucked the soft toy under one arm. “Thanks, Pyro. I mean it.”

“Mmmmph!” Pyro responded, and then lunged forward and caught Scout in a hug almost as bonecrushing as the one Heavy had given him earlier. Scout struggled, choking.

“Pyro – Pyro, easy theah pally – “ he gasped. His lungs were aching for air when Engie appeared from around a corner and pulled Pyro off him. 

“Hey, buddy, take it easy there. Give the kid a break,” Engie gently chided the little guy. “Not ev’ryone appreciates yer enthusiasm, friend.” As Pyro drew back, Engie turned to Scout. “Just wanted to see ya off, buddy. Tell yer ma good luck from me,” Engie said, getting the door for Scout.

“Thanks, Engie,” Scout said. There was a pause and the two of them studied each other. Just as it was about to get awkward, Engie clapped Scout on the shoulder.

“Have a safe trip, son.”

“I will. Thanks.” With that, Scout hauled his suitcase out the door and was gone.

* * *

Engie’s truck was out of commission again – something about Soldier replacing the carburetor with bread for some unknown reason – so a cab had been called to take Scout to the airport. The cab driver – whom Scout suspected had been chosen with an eye toward expendability – was helping Scout put his suitcase in the trunk when a stern, commanding voice came from behind him. “Wait.”

Scout started and turned to see the tall, elegant figure of the one team member he had not spoken to coming toward him, his own suitcase in hand. It took Scout a moment to place him; for the first time since Scout had known him, the man was not wearing the mask that was the feature of his trade. _“Spy?_ ” Scout gasped.

Without the mask, Scout had to admit, Spy looked exactly as he would have thought: a striking man with aquiline features, his short, jet black hair graying at the temples. Spy tossed his suitcase easily into the open trunk. _“Oui.”_ Coolly ignoring Scout’s dumbfounded expression, he slid into the cab and arranged himself easily against the driver’s side door. 

Scout stared at him for a moment, then shook his head. “No. _Oh_ no. Get ya ass outta the cab. No way in hell you’re comin’ with me – “

Spy gave him a coolly contemptuous look. “Scout. Shut your mouth and get in before I stuff you in ze trunk.”

“But – but why?” The _last_ thing Scout wanted on this, which was probably going to be the most painful trip of his life, was for Spy to come along with. 

“Scout, I am, ‘ow you say, losing my patience with you. Ze car or ze trunk. Your choice.” Spy pulled his butterfly knife and was twirling it around in his fingers in a way Scout knew from long experience meant business. He stared at Spy for a long moment, weighing his options, then gave up. 

“Fine.” _Ma, the things I do for you._ Gritting his teeth, Scout climbed into the car. 

The door slammed, and effortlessly taking control of the situation, Spy ordered the driver, “To ze airport. _Allez.”_

As the car pulled out, Scout studied the enigmatic face of Spy and groaned inwardly. _This is gonna be a fun trip._

* * *

Scout had expected a fusillade of awkward questions from Spy on the way out, but the well-dressed Frenchman remained silent, chain-smoking and gazing abstractedly out at the passing scenery. The smoke curled and wreathed around his head, and Scout, watching, remembered Marge’s voice on the phone. _You know how she was always smokin’ dem cigarettes …_

“Yo, Spy,” he said, nudging the man. “You mind doin’ that out the window?”

Spy glanced at him, then looked at his cigarette. “Ah. Of course,” he said, and rolled the window down. Those were the only words either of them spoke as the car drove on. If anything, Scout found the silence harder to take than the questions would have been. It seemed to have actual _weight._ _Why is he heah? She’s **my** ma. What the hell business is it of his?_ He settled against the door of the cab, sinking into resentment.

By the time the car pulled up to the airport terminal, Scout had never been so glad to see a building in his life. Scout pulled their bags out of the trunk while Spy dismissed the cab driver – probably to a shallow grave, if Scout knew anything about Miss Pauling’s efficiency. 

“Your plane is boarding right now,” the woman at the check-in counter told them. “I’ll call up and tell them the last two passengers are coming now. But you’d better hurry!”

“Hurryin’ is my middle name!” Scout said, feeling a rush of relief that here was a problem he could actually solve with his speed. He touched his cap. “Latah, Frenchie,” he jeered, and dashed off like a bat out of hell.

Somehow the two of them still reached the boarding gate at the same time. The airport staff waved them through with a “You _just_ made it!” and within a few moments Scout was pushing his way down the airplane aisle. 

“Hey, wheah you goin’, Frenchie?” he demanded as the Spy turned aside.

Spy raised a supercilious eyebrow. “A zhentleman nevair travels anything other zan _first_ class,” he said. “See you on ze ground.” And with a nod, he disappeared behind the first class curtains.

“Aaah, screw you, Spy,” Scout grumbled, but really was deeply relieved he wouldn’t have to sit next to him all the way to Boston. _Finally,_ he mused, dropping into his seat with a sigh of relief. _A chance to just be alone with my thoughts –_

“Yo, Red.”

Scout nearly jumped out of his chair. His head whipped around to see, sitting next to him, leaning moodily against the window, Blue Scout. Blue glanced up at him. “How ya doin.”

The two rivals stared at each other in understanding. It was like looking into a mirror. Scout could see the drawn look to his rival’s features, the worry in his eyes. He hesitated a moment. “You too, Blue?”

“Yeah. Why d’ya think I tolja to call your ma?” Blue shrugged with an attempt at humor. The RED and BLU mercenaries had long known about their oddly paired lives, but this was the first time Scout had ever actually thought about what that meant. He found himself filled with a strange sense of kinship and something like gratitude. _At least I won’t have to go through this alone._

“How’d ya find out?” he asked.

“Call last night from my ma’s friend Mabel. Said they’d taken her ta Mass General. I was ah,” Blue glanced diffidently at Scout. “I was thinkin it might not be the same for you. No such luck, I guess.”

“What’d dey tell ya?” Scout reflected he might able to get some more information on his own mother by asking Blue.

Another shrug. “Probly about the same as dey told you. Dr. Silverman ran some tests, did some X-rays. Said it was lung cancah, not – not so good – an’ dat dey’d hafta do an operation ASAP.” Blue glanced at Scout. “You heah anything else?”

Scout shook his head. “Nah. ‘Cept that our Medic offered ta give a ‘second opinion.’”

“Ours too. No way in hell.” The two Scouts shared an awkward chuckle. Blue added, “Jus’ tell me your Snipah didn’ try any Jarate.”

“Nah. He did say he’d headshot anyone we wanted for us though.”

“Heh. Snipahs,” Blue said, and the two of them snorted a laugh together. There was silence for a moment, as the sounds of the crew doing the pre-flight check went on in the background.

Blue broke it. “Your – ah, ya bruddahs make it back?”

Scout shook his head. “Nah. Yours?

“Nah. At least – I mean, at least we’re gonna be there, I guess. That’s somethin’, anyway.”

“Yeah, that’s what Engie said.” Scout looked at his counterpart. “You know he used ta be married?”

“Huh. _Engie?_ ” Blue Scout was clearly taken aback. “That sly dog. Always the quiet ones – I nevah woulda guessed.”

“Tell me about it. What next – Pyro havin a toddlah?” The two of them shared a chuckle together – then stopped at the same moment as the horrifying implications sank in. Scout shuddered and noticed Blue doing the same thing.

“Yeah.” Blue grimaced. “Some things man was not meant ta know, I’m tellin ya.”

“I heah dat.” Scout paused, and then nodded up toward the front of the plane. “Did, ah – did _he_ come?”

“Yeah. God knows why ‘cause I sure don’t. I don’t even want him to _be_ heah.”

“Me neithah. She’s _our_ ma.”

“Yeah.” The two again shared a look of understanding; then Scout sighed. “I guess just one moah question. How come _you_ get the window seat?”

Blue chuckled. “I guess _Miss Pauling_ jus’ likes me bettah.”

“In ya dreams, Blue,” Scout said but didn’t have the energy to rise to the bait. The next moment the seatbelt light came on and the captain’s voice came over the intercom. As the announcements droned on, Scout settled back into his seat. He was not looking forward to the other end of the trip.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's note:** Turns out there may actually be one more chapter than I had originally thought; this chapter turned out shorter than I expected. I'm still aiming for four chapters total, but we'll see. Oh, and all French in this story comes straight from Google Translate - I don't even pretend to speak French (I wasted my foreign language years at school taking Latin, haha). My wonderful beta **LadyKate1** , however, does know French and I asked her to look out for anything flagrantly wrong - but at the end of the day, any and all errors are mine alone :)

* * *

Scout slept most of the four-hour flight from New Mexico to Boston; it had been a long, exhausting day even before the news of his ma. It wasn’t enough. When they reached Logan Airport at 2:00 am, he was barely able to summon the energy to debark and head down to baggage claim. Blue, he saw, was just as drained; the two Spies, emerging from first class with their usual haughty expressions, ended up taking charge of the party and navigating them through the confusing airport to the hotel shuttle.

“Wheah you stayin?” Scout asked Blue as they lingered at the terminal, shivering in the cool night air.

“Beacon House.”

“Yeah, us too. Guess Miss Pauling just figured it was easier ta put us all togethah, huh?” He tried to fight back a yawn. “What room?”

“413. You?”

“314. Big surprise there.” Scout cocked an eyebrow at Blue Spy, standing some way distant and aloof with Red Spy under the terminal’s light. “He stayin’ with ya?”

“Yeah,” Blue grimaced. “Wanna switch?”

“Thought you’d nevah ask.”

The whole thing was so strange, Scout thought as they climbed on board the shuttle and settled into their seats for the trip to the hotel. Any other day he’d be fighting Blue to the death – well, to one of several deaths – but now, not only was he traveling peacefully with his rival, he was actually glad the guy was along. _Blue understands, at least._

The two Spies dealt with the check-in counter at the hotel – both the Scouts were beyond exhausted -- and then the party split up; the two Scouts taking room 314 and the two Spies heading up to 413. “Tomorrow,” Blue Spy told them. “Ze shuttle to ze hospital leaves at 9:30 am on ze dot, so we will assemble at ze staging point no later than 9:15. _Comprenez vous?_ ”

“Yeah, sure,” Blue said, and Scout nodded, too tired even to think. He and Blue made their way up to 314 and collapsed into the two beds. Scout was asleep immediately, and did not dream.

* * *

He woke up the next morning with a moment of extreme disorientation. _Wheah the hell am I?_ He jerked out of bed, saw Blue in the other bed and then it all came flooding back. A deep sense of dread leaked into him.

“Ready foh dis?” he asked as Blue sat up.

Blue shook his head. His eyes were haunted. “Nah,” he confessed. “Not at all.”

“Yeah.” Scout grimaced. “Me neither. I guess we gotta though, right?”

“Yeah.” Blue swung his legs over the edge of the bed. “We bettah get movin’. The Spies’ll probly backstab us if we don’t get down deah on time.”

The Spies were already waiting for them when they got down to the lobby, looking as cool and unconcerned as if they were heading out for a day at the park. Scout himself felt as keyed up as he did before an especially big battle, and he could see Blue felt the same way. Neither of them could eat much from the hotel’s breakfast bar, and all too soon they were standing outside waiting for the shuttle to the hospital. 

It was a silent ride over. Scout gripped a hand-hold to brace against the bus’s swaying and wished he were anywhere else. Blue was jiggling one leg nervously. The two Spies gazed out the windows of the bus, clearly lost in thought. It seemed no time at all before they disembarked at the forbidding glass front of the hospital.

“Man, this is tense,” Scout muttered to Blue as they passed through the glass fronted doors into the hospital.

“I know,” Blue replied, glancing at the Spies ahead of them. “Wheah d’ya think we go?”

“Theah, I think.” Scout indicated a counter at the far end of the lobby. He looked over at Blue. “D’ya think we need to ask for her ourselves?”

“Well, the Spies sure as hell ain’t related,” Blue grimaced. “C’mon. Let’s get this ovah with.”

The Spies in tow, Scout and Blue approached the counter, each of them walking up to one of the five clerks.

“We’re heah to see Shirley Sullivan,” Scout said to the girl, who was fairly attractive; if it hadn’t been for Miss Pauling, Scout might have tried to hit on her. In the background he could hear Blue asking to see “Laverne Culligan.” _So that’s his last name…._ Somehow Scout wasn’t surprised.

The clerk smiled at him politely. “And you are?”

“Her son, Jeremy, and a – ” He glanced at Spy. “A frienda da family,” he said sourly.

The clerk pulled out a file. “Jeremy – oh yes. Yes. She’s in room 102. Take that hall – “ She pointed to a passageway next to a flight of stairs “ -- turn right and go through the double doors, first door on the left.”

“Thanks.” Scout stepped away from the counter, followed by Spy; he saw the Blue team members were stepping away at the same moment. Blue came toward him.

“Where is she?”

“102. Yours?”

“201. Figures.” Blue grimaced. The two Spies were talking quietly in French; now Blue Spy stepped forward.

“You. Scouts. You go first. I wish to confer with my colleague here.”

Scout glanced at his Spy for confirmation. Red Spy nodded.

“Yes. We will be along _bient_ _ôt_. _Allez-vous_.”

The two Scouts turned toward each other uneasily. Again, it was as if looking into a mirror; Scout could see his own reluctance in Blue’s eyes.

“Well. I guess this is it.” Scout shifted from foot to foot.

“Yeah. Guess so,” Blue rolled his shoulders. “Say, I saw a Pizza Hat across da street. Wanna meet back heah an’ go get a slice aftahwards?”

“Soire,” Scout said. He sighed. “Guess we bettah get goin, eh?”

“Yeah.” Blue paused. “Hey. Good luck, Red, okay?”

“You too.” Scout punched Blue on the shoulder. The two of them shared one last look, then separated, Scout heading for the corridor and Blue heading for the stairs.

* * *

Room 102 was at the end of the corridor, all the way down from the lobby. The walk seemed to get longer and longer as Scout moved along the hall, past patients on gurneys or in wheelchairs or hooked up to IV stands, past nurses and doctors on their rounds. He took out the Balloonicorn Pyro had given him and held it in a death grip. With each step he took toward the end of the corridor, counting the numbers on the doors, that sick feeling in his chest worsened. It actually felt like there was some strange force holding him back, he was so reluctant to go on. All too soon however, he had reached the end of the corridor and stood there, staring at the door to room 102.

 _Go on,_ he told himself. _It’s just your ma. Go on, knock, open the door and go in._ He stared at the door handle, and yet his hand did not move. What he wanted in that moment, more than anything else, was to turn and run away. The impulse to run was so strong his feet actually twitched. Instead of going into that room where his mother lay, Scout wanted to just turn around and run all the way back to New Mexico, right onto a battlefield where there were enemies to bash or shoot, briefcases to steal, control points to cap, and where dying was never permanent but merely a brief interruption in the vital, vigorous flow of life.

He might have done it, but the thought of Blue occurred to him. His rival was upstairs right now, facing down the same door with _his_ ma behind it. Scout swallowed hard. _If Blue can do it, so can I. No lettin’ the team down. Come on, Scout, mush, you lazy bum._ He reached out and knocked on the door.

 _“Who is it?”_ His mother’s voice came from within. Unmistakably hers, just as he remembered it.

“Jeremy, ma!”

“ _Jeremy!?”_ Excitement was clear in her voice. “ _Well, come in!”_

Scout opened the door, and there was his ma.

She was in bed, lying in a ray of sunshine from a nearby window. There was a tube in her arm leading to an IV stand nearby, and a breathing tube hooked into her nose. A cart was nearby with some sort of electronic equipment that he didn’t recognize. She looked much thinner than the last time he had seen her, and older – shrunken, somehow. Scout could hear her breath rasping in and out of her lungs. Her face brightened immediately when she saw him.

 _“Jeremy!_ Honey, it’s so nice ta see you -- Marge said she was callin’ ya but she didn’t say if she’d managed to get ya or not – An’ you came all the way from New Mexico!”

“Yeah, well, you’re my favorite ma so I had to come.” Jeremy managed a smile. “Heah. From some guys at work.” He held out the stuffed Balloonicorn Pyro had given him.

“Aww, lookit dis thing. You’re so thoughtful!” His ma took the Balloonicorn and set it on the table beside her bed. “An’ now come heah an’ let me hug ya.”

Jeremy went over to her and hugged her, careful to avoid dislodging any of the tubes and wires. A chill went through him at how thin and frail she seemed; her bones felt like bird bones, as if they would snap if he squeezed her too hard. She beamed up at him.

“You’re lookin so well, Jeremy!”

“So are you, Ma,” Jeremy lied. He slid into a chair at her bedside. “When Marge called and tol’ me I came as fast as I could …. How are you doin?”

“I’m doin’ all right.” She broke off to cough, a deep, hacking cough. “Da church gals gave me a little room-warmin’ pahty – “ A gesture of one arm and Jeremy noticed balloons clustered in a corner that he hadn’t seen before, and a wreath of flowers. “An’ everyone is bein’ real nice – Oh, I even made a friend! Her name is Laverne Culligan, isn’t that funny? She’s in for an operation, same as me, an’ she even has a son, Jeremy, too, who’s in construction jus’ like you. He’s out in New Mexico too! Don’t suppose you know a Jeremy Culligan out theah?”

Scout groaned internally. _Why am I not surprised?_ “Yeah. Yeah, I think I know him, Ma.”

“Oh really? You should look him up, I bet you’d be real good friends.”

“Yeah.” Scout tried to keep his expression neutral. “Maybe I’ll do dat.” He paused. “Do – do ya need help with anything, or – “

“Nah, I’m fine. But yah sweet ta ask.” His ma started to say something else but coughed again, that same racking cough as before. “I just hope you takin’ time off work din’t cause any trouble for ya, Jeremy – I tol’ Marge she didn’t have to call ya, didn’ want her ta bother you – “

“You’re my ma, accourse I wanted ta know,” Scout insisted. “When were you gonna tell me anyway?”

“Well, I didn’t see any need for you ta come all the way back from New Mexico foh this.” his mother chided him. “I didn’t wanna tell ya until I was all bettah. Aftah all, Dr. Goldman is gonna take me in for an operation first thing tomorrow mornin an’ that’ll fix me right up.”

“Is that what he said?” Jeremy asked. Inside, he wanted to hit something with his baseball bat. His ma had _always_ hated showing weakness or having anyone take care of her, and the idea that she would not have told him about being sick until after it was all over was infuriatingly like her. It was also plain to see from looking at her that she wasn’t going to suddenly be “all better” after this operation. _Hell, even_ I _can tell that an’ I ain’t no egghead like Medic or Engie._

“Yeah,” his ma said firmly. “All bettah. I’ll be back on my feet in no time.” Again, she gave that horrible deep cough. “So Jeremy, tell me all about how ya work is goin?”

 _Great._ “Ah, it’s goin’ okay, Ma,” he said lightly. “Lotta same ol’, same ol’. You know how it is.”

“So what are ya buildin’ exactly? Ya nevah did say – “

“Ma, you know dat’s classified,” Scout chided her. “Besides I just got _away_ from work, I don’ wanna staht talkin’ about it _again_.”

“Yeah, well – “ She looked at him for a long moment, and a deep tenderness came into her face. “You look _really_ good. Whatevah ya been doin, it sure seems ta agree with ya, Jeremy.”

“Yeah,” Jeremy said. “Yeah. I think it does.”

“In case I nevah toldja before – “

“You have,” he interrupted.

“Well, I just wanted ya to know how proud I am of ya, my boy,” she said, smiling. “My little boy, who’s all grown up, so strong an’ handsome – “

“ _Maaaaa!_ ” Jeremy squalled in protest. “Sheesh, ya embarrassin me!” Inside a little chill gripped him. _Why’s she sayin this anyway? Does she think … something bad’s gonna happen?_

“Hey, if a mothah can’t embarrass her little boy,” his mom began when there was a knock at the door. She broke off. “Come in!” she called.

The door opened, and Spy stepped through. “ _Bonjour,”_ he said quietly.

Scout’s mother lit up like a beacon. Her face transformed, the thin, ill aspect receding, and an almost girlish flush of youth filled her cheeks. She caught her breath and stared at Spy as if hypnotized. Spy said nothing, but their eyes locked. There was an intensity in Spy’s face – a depth of emotion – that Scout had never seen there before.

 _“Pierre … “_ she whispered. “Is … is it really you?”

 _“Oui, madame.”_ Spy went to her side – his mother never took her eyes off him – and took one wasted hand in his as gently as if it were one of Medic’s doves. He raised it to his lips. “ _Ma petite chou-fleur.”_

“Oh, I – I – “ Scout’s ma actually blushed girlishly. “If I’d known you were comin I woulda – I woulda done my hair or – “ 

“You are as beautiful as the day we first met.” Spy managed a smile; and it was only because he was so familiar with the other man that Jeremy could see the deep concern behind it. Scout’s ma giggled.

“Oh, Pierre, you’re still such a charmer – “

Scout could feel himself cringing inwardly. He’d never seen his ma act like this, not even with the few men from church who had asked her out occasionally. Spy and his mother were gazing at each other as if nothing else existed in the entire world. “Hey, guys, remembah me? Scout? Still heah.”

“Pierre, I can’t believe – how – how did you know – “

“I have ways. Of course I would come.”

“You … you shoulda wrote or somethin – “

“Guys!” Scout burst in. “Hey! Get a room!”

“ _Not now, Jeremy.”_

“Scout. Three is … ‘ow you say … a crowd.” Spy never looked away from his mother. “Go away. I will come find you later.”

Scout wanted to protest, but the awkwardness was almost unbearable. He suddenly couldn’t stand to be there another moment. The two of them together, and the way they were looking at each other, filled the room; there was no space left for him.

“Fine,” he growled sullenly. “When you two stop playin’ kissy face, I’ll be outside.”

As he stepped out and closed the door behind him, neither of them even spared him a glance. 

He shuddered all over. _I gotta find Blue._ Blue was the only one in the world who would understand.

* * *

A few minutes after he reached the lobby he saw Blue coming down the stairs looking as unsettled as he felt. Blue caught sight of him and raised one hand. “’Ey, Red,” he said tonelessly.

Scout nodded. He glanced toward the doors. “Pizza Hat?”

“Thought you’d never ask.”

They headed across the street to the Pizza Hat to split a large pepperoni pizza neither of them really felt like eating. As Scout settled onto the bench he drew a deep breath. 

“How’s she doin’?” he asked Blue.

Blue just looked down, shaking his head. “She don’ look so good,” was all he said. “Course I ain’t no Medic. Yours?”

“Probly about the same. ’Parently she’s goin in for da operation tomorrah.”

“Yeah.” Blue grimaced. “She said she wasn’t even gonna tell me till it was all ovah with ‘cause she didn’ want me ta worry.”

“Yeah, mine too.” Scout clenched his fists. “Just like heh. She was _always_ like that, even when we was kids. No mattah how she was feelin, she would nevah take a day off or even lie down for a rest.”

Blue was nodding vigorously. “Foh cripes sake there was _eight_ of us boys, she shouldn’ even-a had to lift a fingah around da house, but it was always ‘Hey ma, d’ya need a hand?’ ‘No Jeremy, I’m fine. Don’t you worry ‘bout it.”

Jeremy hissed through his teeth. “It just makes me so _mad_ with heh. I mean, maybe if she’d let us help out moah – “

“She wouldn’ be so sick now. Or _somethin’._ Maybe If we’d stayed with heh – if _one-a_ us had stayed with heh at least – “

“If _one-a_ us had stayed with her.” Jeremy cast a glance out the glass window of the Pizza Hat to the front of Mass General, and his mood darkened. Blue followed his gaze and immediately caught his meaning. His expression soured as well.

“That sonuvabitch Spy,” Blue muttered. “You shoulda seen when he showed up – just da way she looked at him – “

“Oh, I saw awright,” Jeremy said. The two looked at each other, each seeing their resentment and anger mirrored. “Lotta nerve _he_ has, showin up now like he actually fuckin cared.”

“No shit. If he cared so much then why the hell wasn’t he heah before now? Who the hell does he think he _is_ anyway? An’ the way Ma looked at him – “

“What the hell is wrong with her?” Jeremy burst out. “She can’t possibly think he gives a _damn_ about her – “

“Ya tellin me,” Blue added. “It – “ His jaw twitched and he looked away. “It fuckin’ hurts ta see heh like that. Carin so much about that heartless son of a bitch – “

“ – when she’s already so sick an’ shit – “

“—it’s the _last_ fuckin’ thing she needs.”

“Why can’t he jus’ leave ‘er alone?”

“ _We_ can take care of her.”

“She’s _our_ ma.”

“What is zis about your ‘ma?’” a voice broke in. The two Scouts looked up simultaneously.

“Go ta hell, Spy,” they said at the same moment to the two tall, elegant men who had just stepped through the door.

The two Spies frowned in response. Scout was surprised to see they both looked tired, drained in a way he hadn’t seen before, even after a grueling day of battle. Now Blue Spy said, “Scouts. We are in no mood for zis.”

“Your mothers are very ill. Try at least to act like adults _pour un moment_ ,” Red Spy added.

“Oh yeah? How about you stay outta our business with our mothers instead?” Blue challenged.

“Yeah, wheah th’ hell da you get off talkin down ta us, Spies?” 

The Spies each started to respond and then stopped. The two of them glanced at each other and something seemed to pass between them. Blue Spy muttered something to Red in French, and Red nodded; Scout wasn’t sure what it was, but caught the word “ _enfants.”_ Both of them sighed together. Red Spy made as if to sit down next to Scout, took another look at the cracked red plastic of the seat, and drew back with an unconscious grimace of distaste.

“Scouts,” he said sternly. “Zis is serious. _Écoutez, s’il-vous plaît._ We ‘ave spoken with your mothers’ doctors, Dr. Goldman and Dr. Silverman.”

“Your mothers, zey go to surgery first thing tomorrow morning,” Blue Spy continued. “Ze doctors ‘ave told us eet will be a difficult operation, but zey expect eet will be done around noon.”

“We cannot be with zem before ze operation, but ze doctors ‘ave said we can see zem when zey are out of surgery,” Red picked up. “Zerefore, we will be at ze ‘ospital no later zan 12:30 so zat we may be zere for zem as soon as zey wake up. Do you understand?”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it,” Scout muttered sullenly. Spy’s words had done nothing to abate the sick sense of dread in his chest at the thought of his ma going under the surgeon’s knife. _Accourse, dese guys ain’t nothin’ like Medic, but …._

Blue shifted uncomfortably. “Did they … ah … “ He seemed to fight a quick struggle with himself. “Did they say anything ‘bout whethah … whethah it was gonna work? Da – da surgery I mean.”

The stern lines of the Spies’ faces softened a bit, but the way they avoided direct eye contact gave Scout no comfort. Blue Spy actually closed his eyes for a moment, as if gathering his strength. 

“ _Non,_ ” he said quietly. “Zey said only zat it will be _trés difficile –_ ah, a very difficult operation and we must … ah, we must be patient, it will take time to know ze outcome.”

Blue’s face paled a shade, and he swallowed nervously. Scout’s eyes immediately went to Red, but Red Spy was watching the other Spy with … _is that sympathy?_ _What does that mean? Does that mean … maybe Blue’s ma is worse off than mine? Is that even possible?_ _Hell, I dunno how this shit works …._ For a moment, a faint frightened hope bloomed in his chest, but then he glanced at Blue’s scared expression and guilt swamped him.

Red Spy stepped in. “Zat is why eet is very important zat we must be zere for your mothers when zey wake. We must do all we can to ‘elp zem to recover. Eet is ze most important thing.”

Scout looked again at Blue, seeing the worry on his face. He bit his lip. “I … ah … “ He glanced around. The Pizza Hat was near empty; but he still lowered his voice a bit, looking up at Red Spy appealingly. “I … dunno if I should even bring this up, but … is dere a chance dat … ah … dat Medic could do anything ta help? If we could get him out heah? I mean, his Medi-Gun – “

Red Spy shook his head, though not without compassion. “ _Non._ Ze Medi-Gun is for injuries, not illnesses, unfortunately.”

“Yeah, I thought so.” Scout looked down. “Just thought it might be woith a shot.”

“We will just ‘ave to wait and see ‘ow ze surgery goes.” He glanced back at his counterpart, and again there was that strange sympathy in the lines of his face. Again, Scout felt that twinge of guilt, seeing how Blue looked so anxious.

Abruptly he stood up. “C’mon, Blue,” he challenged, “How ‘bout we race back to the hotel?” As Blue looked up at him uncertainly, Scout added, “Hey, ‘cause I’m feelin generous today, I’ll even give ya a head start!”

That got his rival’s attention; Blue scoffed. “Day I need a head start against you, Red, is the day I change my name ta ‘Heavy.’” He jumped up from the table. “Spies: Get the door!”

The two Spies exchanged glances again, and sighed as one; then Red moved to hold the door open. “Gentlemen,” he said, with a long-suffering expression as the Scouts dropped to starting positions. 

“Count a three!” Scout called. “One – two – Latah, suckah!” he jeered as he shot out the door, hearing Blue’s shouted protest behind him.

He had meant to let Blue win, but it turned out he was just too competitive for that; the two of them reached the hotel in a near dead heat, thanks to Scout getting stuck at a very busy intersection that had allowed Blue to catch up. “If it hadn’t been for da traffic, though – “ Scout said as they entered the lobby.

“Yeah, in ya dreams, Red,” Blue jeered, but Scout could tell his heart wasn’t in it. _He picked up on that between the Spies too,_ Scout thought, and again felt that faint frightened hope mingled with crushing guilt. He wanted to say something comforting, but couldn’t find the words. As he struggled the lobby doors opened and the Spies came strolling in, looking as cool and unconcerned as if they just passed a day at the park.

Scout immediately directed his anxiety onto them. “Eheheh, we beat ya, stupid Spies!”

Blue joined in. “Yeah, how’d ya like that, slowpokes?”

The two Spies rolled their eyes simultaneously. “Yes of course,” Blue Spy said wearily. “Scouts. Go … do whatevair eet ees you do. Just remembair – we must be at ze ‘ospital at 12:30 tomorrow for your mothers.”

“Sure thing, Frenchie.” Scout turned to Blue. “Wanna hit the hotel gym?”

“Sure, I could use a workout,” Blue said with a shrug. But as they headed down the hall, Scout looked back over his shoulder. The two Spies were in intense conversation; it was in French, so he couldn’t understand it, but from their voices, it sounded serious. Blue Spy was looking very grim, and Red Spy actually reached out and touched him on the shoulder, as if in comfort.

 _Aw crap. That ain’t good,_ Scout thought. And as he glanced at his rival, he saw from his face that Blue had seen it too.

* * *

Scout got little sleep that night, tossing and turning fitfully, a leaden knot of dread and foreboding settling into his stomach. A stew of conflicting emotions all combined to make him restless and antsy all night, and when he finally rose from his bed the next morning, he felt as if he hadn’t slept at all.

But as bad as he felt – and looked; when he saw himself in the bathroom mirror, his face was pale, haunted – Blue was worse. Dark circles like bruises surrounded his eyes and his complexion was a sickly grayish hue. When they went down to breakfast he took one look at the spread and blanched, waving one hand. “Nah. Can’t eat anything.”

“Come on, at least try something,” Scout urged him, not knowing why he was being so insistent except that somehow worrying about Blue helped to take his mind off his own fears – and helped to alleviate that sick mixture of hope and guilt in the back of his mind.

Blue looked at him, hollow-eyed. “I can’t, Red. If I do – “ He grimaced and clutched his stomach.

“Awright, I gotcha.” Scout understood; he felt as if he were waiting to see if he would receive a sentence of execution. He didn’t know how he was going to make it to 12:30 when he could finally see his ma. He cast about himself. “Okay. C’mon, let’s go for a run, whaddaya say? We got plenty a’ time, we can get back, get a shower, an’ be down heah before the Spies even know we’ve been gone. C’mon.”

He managed to herd Blue outside into the cool morning air and they set off. There was no banter or competition this morning; both of them were simply far too keyed up and anxious. Blue’s mind was clearly elsewhere; he actually trailed Scout a bit and even when Scout taunted him, he didn’t rise to the bait, still giving Scout that same hollow look. Scout understood only too well how he felt. When they made it back to the hotel at 11:30 or so, neither of them seemed to feel much better.

A quick shower and they went downstairs to find the Spies waiting for them. “Scouts,” Red Spy said harshly as they approached, “Where ‘ave you been? We ‘ave been waiting for you for ze past fifteen minutes, you are almost late.”

“Hey, cool ya jets, Frenchie, we’re heah, ain’t we?” Scout asked with a calm he did not feel. “We made it on time, it’s okay, it really is,” he added as he saw Red Spy’s mounting anger. A flash of his own anger spiked through him: _Where the hell does he get off? She’s our ma._

He drew a deep breath, glancing at the unhappy-looking Blue and biting back his temper. He could tell right away looking at Red Spy that his usual wiseassery would not be well received. Red Spy looked haggard, the lines of his face more deeply carved than usual with stress and concern; and as bad as he looked, Blue Spy looked worse. Blue Spy’s eyes had the same haunted look that Scout saw in Blue Scout’s eyes, and a twitchiness that betrayed a deep anxiety. Red Spy glanced over at him with evident concern, a concern that reminded him of his own concern for Blue Scout. As much as Scout wanted to relieve some of his tension by exploding, he realized that wouldn’t help. _For my ma,_ he told himself and aloud said, “Okay, I’m sorry, Spies. We coulda told you earlier. But we’re heah now, anyway.”

Red Spy looked as if he wanted to lay into Scout some more but at that moment the shuttle pulled up to the curb. He swallowed his anger and acquiesced with a single curt nod. “Very well. Let us go.”

The shuttle ride over was even more tense than the one the day before. Blue Spy and Blue Scout both looked like prisoners on their way to execution. Scout himself felt hardly any more cheerful; Red Spy looked very grim. By the time they stepped off on the shuttle ride at the front door of the hospital, Scout felt like he was about to explode from tension.

They were directed at the check-in counter down a side hallway to a waiting room. The waiting room was painted an ugly yellowish green, filled with cheap couches and with harsh fluorescent lighting which did nothing for Scout’s anxiety. The two Spies seated themselves on chairs at opposite ends of the room, each looking both uncomfortable and somehow disdainful. Scout and Blue sat together on the couch in the middle; Scout only had to look at Blue to see Blue was as anxious as he felt if not more so.

The minutes ticked by. Time seemed to be racing one moment and then slowing down the next. Scout could barely sit still, he was so on edge. When the door opened, he almost jumped out of his skin.

A nurse stepped into the room. “Jeremy Culligan?”

Scout’s eyes went to Blue. Blue was deathly white. He swallowed. “Y-yeah?”

The nurse smiled, and perhaps that was when Scout felt the first premonition – but perhaps not; looking back, it was hard to tell. “Your mother’s out of surgery and in the recovery room. Dr. Silverman says it went very well. You can go see her now.”

Blue looked as if he’d just been told he’d won a million bars of australium. He bounced up from the chair like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. “Wow, that’s great to heah!”

Blue Spy stood too, looking about ten years younger. Red Spy said something to him in French that Scout didn’t track, and Blue Spy smiled for the first time that entire trip.

Scout gave his rival a high five. “Meet ya at the Pizza Hat aftahwards?”

“Soire!” Blue turned to Blue Spy. “C’mon, Frenchie, let’s go!” And the two of them exited the room.

Leaving Scout and Red Spy to wait.

And wait.

And wait.

The minutes piled up, one on another. The fear in Scout’s gut slowly began to deepen. He tried to pick up a magazine to read it, but the letters were all jumping around and backwards like usual and he was too keyed up to summon the concentration to make heads or tails of it. Spy drummed his fingers, looking like he really wanted a cigarette; his expression grew steadily grimmer. Jeremy looked at him with barely concealed resentment. _Why is he even heah?_ _Pretendin’ like he cares about heh?_ Somehow it made him angry that Spy was with him, sharing this moment, this worry with him; maybe it was only that being angry at Spy was a useful distraction. But there was nothing to do but wait.

The sounds of the hospital didn’t help; calls issued over the PA, raised voices and running footsteps; it all contributed to a general air of urgency that agitated Scout even more. Finally, just as Scout felt like he couldn’t take it anymore, Spy stood up.

“Wheah you goin, Frenchie?” Scout challenged, almost hoping Spy would argue with him.

Spy gave him a disdainful look. “To see.”

He stepped out of the room; Scout, on pins and needles, agonized about whether to follow him, and maybe learn something, or wait there in case a nurse came for them. He decided to stay put, and eventually Spy came back in. 

“What’d they say?” Scout demanded, starting up.

Spy looked at him. Those pale eyes were hollow. He shook his head. “She is still een surgery. Zey said nothing except zat zey will inform us when she is out.”

Scout wanted to ask more questions, but something in Spy’s demeanor forbade it; the tall Frenchman sat back down, gazing into the distance, sunk deep in thought. Scout settled back down on the sofa as well, feeling that sick sense in his midsection.

Time passed. Scout felt he could no longer remember what it was like not to be waiting in this room, or to feel the grinding fear in his gut. Red Spy was sunken into silence. When the door opened again, Scout looked up hopefully, only to have his hopes crushed.

It was his rival and Blue Spy, each of them looking about a million pounds lighter, even rejuvenated. His rival was grinning ear to ear, almost giddy, and even Blue Spy was smiling a bit. Blue Scout called, “He-ey, guys, how – “

Then Blue Scout looked at them and stopped. The relief vanished from his face, to be replaced by guilt. Blue Spy’s brow furrowed and he immediately swung to look at Red Spy.

“Still waitin’,” Scout said with forced nonchalance.

“Oh.” Blue looked over at the two Spies, who were discussing in an undertone. “Did – did they say anything – “

“She’s still in surgery, last we heard. They said they’ll let us know when she gets out.”

“Still – “ Blue cut himself off. He looked at Blue Spy. “Do ya – do ya want us to wait with you or – “

“Nah, you don’t have to, it’ll just be weahd. I’m sure she’ll be out before too long. Go on ahead, we’ll catch up.” Scout managed a smile he didn’t feel. 

“Okay. If – if you’re sure.” Blue said dubiously; he glanced at Blue Spy, who had apparently come to the same conclusion after talking to Red Spy. “Hey – call us at da hotel as soon as ya heah, all right? Even if we’ah not in, you can leave a message or somethin’.”

“Yeah. We’ll do that. See ya.” Scout raised a hand. Blue Scout and Blue Spy glanced at each other, and then with an air of relief, left the room.

The clock ticked away. Scout couldn’t even guess how long they’d been there; no one came to tell them what was happening or to update them on Scout’s ma’s condition. Spy’s presence grated on Scout like a file; his disdainful silence, the way he seemed to be completely ignoring Scout. If he had to guess, Scout would have said they’d been there four hours at least, maybe more, when at last the door opened.

Scout and Spy looked up together at the same time. The man who came through looked like a movie version of a doctor, tall, broad-shouldered, thick black hair, square jawline, wearing a white coat with stethoscope around his neck. “Jeremy Sullivan?” he asked.

“Yeah, dat’s me.” Jeremy jumped up from his seat, and Spy rose as well.

“I’m Dr. Goldman.” He reached to shake Jeremy’s hand, but his face was somber. “I just completed the surgery on your mother, Shirley Sullivan. Unfortunately, I’m sorry to say there were some severe complications …. “

The bottom fell out of Jeremy’s stomach as the sound rushed from the world. The doctor was still speaking but Jeremy couldn’t hear him. His entire body felt as if it had been submerged in freezing water. It was what he had been afraid of, had known all along but hearing it …. _No. No, this can’t be. It’s not **fair**. Blue’s mother was all right, Blue’s mother was fine, so my mother has to be too, right?_

He actually burst out with that. “No, that can’t be. She _has_ ta be all right!”

Dr. Goldman had been speaking to Spy; now they both stopped and looked at him. “Jeremy,” Spy said sharply. The doctor frowned.

“I’m sorry, but as I was explaining to your friend, the cancer was far more advanced than initial X-rays showed. When we began to operate we found that the cancer had already metastatized – “

“Metasta- _what?_ ” Jeremy was shaking. “No. No, it’s bullshit. My ma _has_ ta be okay. Blue’s ma was okay – “

 _“Jeremy!”_ Spy reached out and grabbed Scout’s shoulder. 

“Let go a me, Spy!” Jeremy demanded. He tried to pull away, but Spy’s hand clamped down on his shoulder with a grip of steel.

“ _Jeremy!_ _Tais-toi!_ ” He addressed the doctor. “My apologies, Doctor. Go on by all means.”

“I was going to say, if you want to see her … it’s best to do it now,” Dr. Goldman said.

Spy nodded. He was pale, but composed. “’Ow much … ‘ow much time does she ‘ave, Doctor?”

Dr. Goldman shrugged. “Maybe a couple of days. She’s been moved to hospice, you can find her in – “

“H-hospice?” Jeremy choked out. “But – isn’t that – “

“Jeremy, eef you do not shut up now – “ Spy’s fingers clicked another notch tighter, and Jeremy suddenly _couldn’t_ speak; he was too busy gasping in pain. He missed the next few sentences Spy and Dr. Goldman spoke to one another; then Spy said, “ _Merci-beaucoup,_ Doctor, we appreciate that you ‘ave done all you can.”

Dr. Goldman nodded. “I have to get back to my other patients, but if you have any questions or concerns, speak to the nurses, and they will let me know.” He turned and stepped out the door. Scout tried to call after him – to shout, to protest – but Spy was already pulling him away. Dr. Goldman was gone.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author’s note:** A couple random things in this chapter: First, anyone who recognizes where Father Mulcahy comes from gets an internet cookie! Of course, that might be a bit before you younguns’ time :D Second on the issue of Scout’s reading ability or lack thereof (which gets a brief mention here), my headcanon is that Scout is actually somewhat dyslexic but this was never recognized while he was in school. Dyslexia does tend to correlate with ADHD after all so it would be plausible.

Translations for Spy’s French are at the end of the chapter.

I think only one more chapter after this after all. Thanks again to my wonderful beta, **LadyKate1!**

* * *

Spy did not release his agonizing, crushing grip on Jeremy’s shoulder, basically dragging him through the hospital corridors like he was pushing the payload. Jeremy heard him growling through his teeth, _“Souviens-toi qu’il est un enfant, souviens-toi qu’il est un enfant, Shirley, ma bien-aimée, je m’abstiendrai de le tuer pour votre bien …. “_

“Spy, you fuckin’ asshole, let me _go!”_ Scout shouted and tried to break free with all his strength. Spy swung him around and slammed him up against the wall.

“Jeremy, _control yourself!”_ he snarled. “This ees not ‘elping your mothair!”

“Get ya hands offa me!” Scout yanked away. “An’ doan’ call me ‘Jeremy!’”

Spy stepped back, but that fierce, haggard glare did not change. “You must think of your mothair now,” he ground out. “You must do all you can to see zat ‘er last moments are peaceful ones. Thees is not ze way to do eet!”

_Last moments ... last moments …_ The words clanged like panic in Scout’s mind. “Doan’ tell me what to do!”

Spy closed in on him. “I weell not let you see ‘er in zis state, if you cannot control yourself. Zat is a promise. You weell only upset ‘er and zat is the _last_ theeng she needs. Calm yourself. _Now.”_

“Wheah da _hell_ do you get off, Spy, tellin me I can’t see my mothah?”

“Because _I_ am theenking of what is best for ‘er.” Spy glared at him. “Control yourself. Or I will do eet for you.”

Fury roiled inside Scout, but in Spy’s grim expression he saw that Spy completely meant what he said – and even as much as he hated the knowledge, some part of him knew that Spy was right; he needed to calm down. He clenched his fists and drew one long, slow breath after another, fighting back the fear and the anger. At last Spy nodded. 

“All right zen. Come.”

“They said she was in hospice. That means – “

“I know what zat means,” Spy growled. “ _Come.”_ He turned and went down the hall and Scout followed.

Scout’s mother was lying in a room very similar to the one Scout had seen her in previously, except crowded with much more equipment and bustling with nurses and other medical personnel. She looked even more frail than she had been before, little more than a shrunken skeleton. Scout tried to reconcile her with the ma he had known growing up – always so strong, so alive – and couldn’t do it. Spy’s long expression grew even longer at the sight of her.

One of the nurses looked up when they came in. “You’re her son?” she asked Jeremy.

“Yeah. I’m – I’m Jeremy Sullivan.”

The nurse nodded. “Just to let you know, she’s drifting in and out of consciousness, and when she’s awake, she’s not always aware of her surroundings.”

“We undairstand.” Spy looked nearly funereal. “’Ow much longer does she ‘ave?”

The nurse shook her head. “Maybe a day, maybe two. You can stay with her if you want.”

“You couldn’t stop me,” Jeremy said, and meant it.

The nurse nodded. “Here’s the call button,” she said, showing them. “Call us if anything changes.”

“We will.” As the nurse left, Spy took a seat on Scout’s ma’s right side. Scout, feeling leaden and dead, took the seat on her left.

_“Shirley, mon amour,”_ Spy murmured, and took one nearly fleshless hand, seemingly heedless of the IV line taped into the vein. _“Je suis ici.”_

_Now he acts like he cares?_ The sight of Spy bending over Scout’s ma made Scout want to hit him. He clamped a tight lid on the emotion.

His ma stirred and opened her eyes; they were unfocused and Scout doubted she knew where she was. “Who – “ The word was a raspy gurgle. “Who – “

“It is I,” Spy said quietly, clasping her hand in both of his.

“Pierre … I thought – thought ya had left again …. “

_“Non, madame.”_ Spy’s hand tightened a bit on hers. “I promise … zat I will nevair leave you again.”

“You promise?” she breathed, gazing up at him, entranced.

_“Oui.”_

“Oh, Pierre … I waited so long ta heah you say that – “ She broke off for a horrible, rasping cough that sounded like she was coughing up her insides. “I thought da las’ time you left it was for good … But now, now we’ve got time. So much time, Pierre …. “

“ _Oui,_ ” he said again. “All ze time in ze world, _ma cherie.”_ Worry lines deepened at the corners of his eyes, but none of that concern was in his voice.

Scout’s ma smiled up at him. “How … wonderful. But … Pierre, I’m so tired …. “

“Zen sleep now, my love,” he said gently.

“Will you be heah when I wake up?”

Spy nodded. Scout saw the muscles of his throat work. “I will, Shirley. I promise.”

“All right, then. All right.” Her eyes drifted closed. “I love you, Pierre.”

He reached out and brushed a strand of hair back from her face. _“Je t’aime, mon amour.”_

She exhaled and sank back into sleep. There was no sound in the room but the quiet beeping of machines and the hissing of the ventilator. Spy sat back in his chair. His face was bleak.

Scout fought down a sudden, monstrous surge of anger. Every fiber of his being rose up in revolt. Spy didn’t belong here, he had no business here, this was _Jeremy’s_ ma, it was _his_ right – his and his brothers’ alone – to be here at her bedside, in these, the last moments of her life. Not some intruder who had abandoned her decades ago. The fact that she might have spoken her last words on earth to that son of a bitch and not to him or his brothers filled Jeremy with fury. _Who da fuck does he think he is? Wheah does he get off?_ His hands itched with the need for action, and the only thing stopping him from hurling himself at Spy and throwing him bodily out of the room was knowing how bad it would be for his mother. He gripped the arms of his chair so hard that his hands ached and glared at Spy. The other man seemed not to notice.

As the nurses had said, Scout’s ma slept through most of the day. She half-woke occasionally, muttering slurred, barely intelligible words that made little sense; at one point she seemed to be chiding Jeremy for leaving the window open; at another she was telling one of his brothers to take out the trash. Jeremy clasped her hand and did his best to soothe her however he could. He took her rosary from where the nurses had left it on the bedside table and pressed the string of beads into her hands.

“Theah ya go, Ma,” he told her, thinking it was at least _something_ he could do for her. Pierre watched with hollow eyes, but said nothing.

Nurses came and went, checking equipment, administering injections, or making notations in the chart at the foot of her bed. Jeremy had lost track of time; all he knew was that the light was dimming when Dr. Goldman stepped into the room. He glanced over the charts, spoke to the nurses in a low voice, and then gestured to Jeremy and Pierre.

“She’s sinking fast,” he told them somberly. “If there are any last arrangements you would like to make – “

“Is theah a chaplain in the hospital?” Jeremy asked.

“Yes, Father Mulcahy is on duty tonight.”

“Call the chaplain. Have ‘im – “ But Jeremy couldn’t say it. He swallowed hard. His eyes were burning; he scrubbed at them with his fists.

Pierre took over, quietly requesting the chaplain be summoned to administer last rites. Jeremy hated him for stepping in this way, but at the same time a treacherous part of him was grateful too. Father Mulcahy was summoned, an older, soft-spoken man with a kind face and gentle demeanor – though there was something about him that somehow reminded Jeremy of the military chaplain he remembered from his brother’s service; he wondered distantly if this man had been in the army at some point. He watched, trying to swallow down the hot tightness in his throat, as Father Mulcahy anointed his mother with oil and intoned the words of the final sacrament. As the priest finished, Scout’s ma opened her eyes.

“Jere … Jere … “ The words were a garbled slur.

Jeremy clenched her bony hand in his. “I’m here, ma.”

“Love you … brothers … so much … “

“I love you too, ma,” he said fervently, and kissed her hand.

“Such fine sons .… “ 

“I love you, ma,” he repeated helplessly. “We all do. We love you. We love you.” He pressed her hand to his cheek, trying hard to fight back the tears.

“So proud … all of ya … proud …. “ Her eyes drifted closed again, and did not reopen. Those were the last words she spoke. Half an hour later, as the machines sounded a low, flat tone, the attending checked his watch, then pulled the sheet up over her face. Time of death was 10:34 pm.

* * *

The next few hours were mostly a blur. Spy once again took charge, speaking with the doctors and the staff; sometimes someone would ask Jeremy something and he would say yes or no without really comprehending what he was saying yes or no to. Everything seemed very distant and unreal, and he was crushed with an overwhelming sense of fatigue. All he could think was, _But Blue’s ma was okay. Blue’s ma was okay. Blue’s ma was …._

At last, one of the doctors took pity on him and led him to a small room – a supply closet – with a cot in it. It was well after midnight by that time, and Jeremy was reeling on his feet; he could never remember feeling so tired, even after a full day of battle. He lay down on the cot as the doctor left to get him a sleeping pill, and was out like a light before the man came back.

The next thing Scout knew, he was being shaken awake. “Scout. Scout. Get up. Eet is ten o’clock, and you need to return to ze ‘otel.”

Scout blearily opened his eyes to see the tall form of Spy standing over him, silhouetted in the light from the closet door. “Go ta hell, Spy,” he slurred, struggling to wakefulness and trying to remember where he was – then it hit him.

“Ah yes. ‘Go to hell, Spy.’ ‘Ow your Spy puts up with this, I … know all too well, I am afraid.” He shifted a bit, and as the light flared around him, Scout noticed this man was wearing blue, not red.

“Wheah … wheah is my Spy?”

“’E is back at ze ‘otel. ‘E asked us to tell you to return when you woke up.”

“Son of a bitch ran out on me _again.”_ Scout clenched his fists on a sudden flare of anger, and pushed himself to a sitting position, scrubbing his eyes. “Dat fuckin’ _asshole._ ”

It came out with real venom; Blue Spy looked troubled, but said only, “Go on, Red Scout. Our Scout and I will be back latair in ze day, aftair – “ He stopped suddenly, and Scout guessed he had been about to say, _after we visit Blue Scout’s mother._ That resentment was roiling in Scout’s chest, and he did his best to hold on to it. Blue Spy continued, “We will be back, and we will ‘elp you, all right? We will ‘elp you to do whatevair it is needs to be done. You ‘ave my word. Now, go.”

_Ya fuckin’ word, you think I give two shits for ya fuckin word?_ Scout didn’t say it. He got to his feet instead and brushed past Blue Spy to the hallway beyond, resisting the temptation to smash into him on the way out.

Scout passed up the shuttle, hoping the run back to the hotel would clear his head and make him feel better. It didn’t. Every step seemed to pound his resentment further into his brain. He jogged into the hotel lobby and sank into a chair. He felt shaky and uneasy; a hot, sick tension in his chest and an edginess along his limbs.

_I gotta relax. I gotta relax,_ he thought to himself, a meaningless mantra. Normally he wasn’t much of a drinker; though he enjoyed a beer on occasion, he mostly preferred his beloved Bonk! Cola. _But honestly, if dere was ever a time to get drunk …._

The hotel bar was open; the bartender insisted on seeing Scout’s ID, but slid him a beer when he asked. The beer itself, however, was cheap and watery; after a glass he only drank half of, he got up and went back to the room he had shared with Blue. Blue was still at the hospital, talking to his own mother, so Scout knew he would have the room to himself. He went down on his knees, reached under the bed, and pulled out his suitcase. He clicked it open, and two bottles of scrumpy stared up at him. Demoman’s gift.

_Cure fer what ails ya, Demoman said._ Scout scooped up one, thinking absently that he needed to get around to taking the other one to his ma – and then stopped, remembering. His eyes burned, and that horrible swelling feeling started rising up his throat again. Quickly, he uncapped the bottle and took a huge swig.

“Gah!” he spluttered, choking at the taste. “How the hell can Demo drink dis shit all day?”

“’Ow indeed,’” came a voice from right by his ear. Scout jumped, to see Spy decloak behind him, carrying a glass of wine in one hand. Scout’s eyes went to the door which was still closed, and he felt his brows rush together. 

“How th’ hell did you get in heah, Spy – oh, right,” he growled. “Spy. Anyway, get lost. I don’ wanna deal with you right now.”

Spy ignored him. He looked subdued, somber. There was something there in the way he looked at Scout, an air of … expectation, maybe. Scout wasn’t in the mood to try and parse it exactly. 

“May I join you?”

“No,” Scout said flatly.

“ _Merci._ ” With an elegance of movement, Spy seated himself fluidly in one of the stuffed chairs across from where Scout sat on the edge of the bed; even now, Scout noticed, he did so with an almost unconscious air of distaste, as if the floral print fabric might contaminate his suit. _Just like him,_ Scout thought, and a strange, prickly hot feeling started a slow burn in his chest.

“Yo, Frenchie. What part a’ ‘Get lost’ don’t ya undahstand?”

“Ze part where eet ees said by you to me.” Spy lifted his glass, studying the wine’s ruby depths in the light from the window. _As if he thinks I’m not worth lookin’ at._ Scout clenched his fists.

“I’m wahnin ya, Spy. I’m _really_ not in da mood for bullshit right now.”

“ _Non_? Zen zat is, as you say, a ‘first.’” Spy swirled the wine in his glass for a moment, inhaling deeply. Scout drew a long, careful breath, holding onto his temper with both hands. Spy completely ignored him, still regarding the glass. Hoping to relax himself, Scout tried another gulp of Demo’s scrumpy; it was just as bad as the first time.

Spy took a swallow from the glass and then set it down on the chipped, scuffed table beside the chair. 

“Scout,” he said quietly, “your mothair was a woman zat a man like myself might meet once in a lifetime.” He paused. “ _Eef_ ‘e was _very_ fortunate.”

Scout swallowed hard, gritting his teeth. That awful pressure was building in his chest. He thought of his mother – his strongly accented Bostonian mother in their little run-down apartment -- and of the elegant, sophisticated world-traveling Spy, and his fists clenched tighter. 

“Spy,” he said warningly, “I doan’ wanna heah it. Not now.”

Spy looked at him somberly. “Perhaps you do not believe zis, Scout,” he said. “I understand. For you, she was only _maman_. But for me … for me she was … “ He picked up his wine glass again and rolled the stem between his fingers, looking at it. “ _Une femme belle et passionée_. The most beautiful woman I ‘ave evair had the privilege to know.”

_Yeah, bet you know a lotta women, huh?_ Scout ground his teeth together hard. That heat in his chest was growing by the moment. _Come on, Scout, get a holda yahself…._

Spy took another sip of wine, set the glass down again and sighed heavily. “She could not bear ze separations, you see, ze – ‘ow you say – ze ‘goings and comings,’ and so we parted. Per’aps … eef things ‘ad been different, Scout – “

“Oh, is dat how you remembah it?” The words just slipped out. Scout tightened his fists another notch, but he knew it was too late; the pressure was building and he couldn’t crush it back much longer. _Come on, come on, come on …._

Spy gave him an inquiring look. “ _Pardonnez-moi?_ ”

“Just like that, huh? You just ‘pahted?’ You each go on youah merry ways, no hahm, no foul, happy evah aftah? Dat how you saw it, huh?”

Spy frowned in evident confusion, one brow raised. “Scout, where is zis going?”

“Wheah it’s goin is WHEAH DA HELL WEAH **YOU**?!” 

Rage suddenly ignited in Scout’s chest and erupted through his throat in a gigantic roar. He surged to his feet; it felt as if he were being Übered by Medic, burning with fury and power. Spy, visibly startled, leapt up too, taking a step back as Scout swung on him, blazing. 

“Wheh da HELL weah you? You knock up some slum girl an’ nevah look back once, well what about heh? What about US? While you was flyin first class an seducin ladies around da worl, you wanna know what my ma was doin? What youah ‘fem bell ay pass-yon-ay’ was doin? She was scrubbin floors at t’ree differen hotels tryin ta make ends meet an’ keep a roof ovah ouah heads! Wheah da FUCK were YOU? Wheah da fuck were you when da church had ta step in wid our rent payments so we didn get kicked outta ouah crappy roach motel apahtment? When Ma hadta go to the church food bank ta get enough food ta feed eight growin boys? D’you know how much dat killed heh, takin charity like dat? She did it foh US! She swallowed heh pride foh US! Wheah da HELL were YOU? 

“Wheah were you when I was gettin beat up every day at school ‘cause my clothes weh all in rags from bein handed down t’rough seven bruddahs? You an youah ten-thousand-dollah tailored suits, I nevah even had a new _SHIRT_ till I was twelve yeahs old an I bought it wid my own money from my first job at a shitty box factory! Da guys all laugh at me cause I can’t read so good, well maybe if I hadn’ dropped outta school at 13 to help support my ma, I could read bettah, evah thoughtta that? An’ college? Dat was NEVAH gonna happen foh me! No _way_ Ma coulda affohded dat! Wanna know why all my bruddahs are in da ahmy? You damn well _bettah_ believe we love ouah country, but we ain’t Soldier. Dey all went in on deir own befoah dey got drafted an’ cause-a dat GI Bill. See dese?”

He ripped his dog tags from his neck and thrust them into Spy’s face. Spy actually flinched back. “Wanna know whose dese are? Dey ain’t mine. Dey’re Patrick’s. Who’s Patrick, you ask? My t’ird bruddah. Dead in da Mekong Delta. Only time I _evah_ saw my ma cry, when dose two soldiers came to da door. If I hadn’ got dis job with RED Team instead, dat coulda been me. No respawns in Nam, and no ‘Doktor’ wid a Medi-Gun neidah. An’ you know what da worse paht is? Not thinkin about me dyin, but how much it woulda hurt my ma. It woulda broken heh heart foh good ta lose me too. My ma who was woikin heh fingahs to da bone, breakin’ heh back ta do da best she could foh all of us an’ how it _killed_ heh dat she couldn’ give us everything she wanted, an’ wheah da _FUCK WERE YOU?_ You coulda changed _EVERYT’ING_ foh us! You treated my ma like a _tramp_ an’ _now_ you show up at da last minute an’ pretend like you cahed all along? Take dat shit back to da store, bastahd, cause I ain’t BUYIN’ it! ‘She couldn’ handle da separations?’ You wanna know what _I_ think dat is? What’s dat Frog woid – _‘Merde.’_ That is _FUCKIN_ BULLSHIT _, an’ YOU KNOW IT!”_

Scout had started out shouting and with the final sentence he actually _screamed_ the words. The force of his rage had backed Spy up against the wall. Spy’s face had gone chalk white. “Jeremy – Jeremy, _mon pauvre garçon –_ please, please, eet was not ‘ow you think, I swear zis to you – “

“Don’t you FUCKIN call me ‘Jeremy!’ I ain’t no ‘Jeremy’ ta you! You ain’t got the right! No! You ain’t _NOTHIN_ ta me, Spy, an’ you _NEVAH FUCKIN WILL BE!”_

Scout’s scream rang in the air, shivering off the walls. The two of them stared at each other. Scout was breathing as hard as if he’d just raced his rival through a marathon. Spy looked utterly devastated, wrecked in a way no battlefield loss could ever have caused. His debonair, sophisticated air had collapsed, he actually wet his lips and stammered before saying, “Jere – Scout, I – I can – _je suis vraiment désolé, je peux tout expliquer, s’il te plait écoute moi – “_

“Take that French shit and shove it RIGHT up ya ass. I doan wanna FUCKIN hear it!” Then, before he could do something he would regret, Scout flung himself away from Spy. He threw the door open so hard it crashed against the wall, shouldered his baseball bat, and was gone.

* * *

Scout was so angry that he scarcely looked where he was going, stalking through the streets with his bat clenched in one fist as if he could club his emotions into docility. His feet seemed to know, though, even if he did not; before too long, his surroundings began to seem familiar, and he realized he was back in his old neighborhood.

It looked much the same as he remembered it; row upon row of crowded narrow brick buildings filling each block, leaning over the street below, fronted by a strip of sidewalk and not much else. The buildings if anything looked shabbier than he remembered, more dirty, more stained; there were a few broken windows here and there, and bars over some of the ground-floor ones. The sidewalk cracks he and his brothers had liked to jump over were larger and more prominent, and the condition of the street was worse; several potholes had appeared and had apparently been there for some time. Litter was strewn all over the place. As he looked around the neighborhood with new eyes, eyes used to the sun and space of the New Mexican desert, that anger solidified into something hard and hot in his chest.

_This is where my ma lived. These filthy little buildings, this dirty street, this is where she lived her whole life. She never knew anything better than this. And now it’s too late._ An awful sense of remorse filled him. _I coulda taken her away from here, even if that fucker Spy wouldn’ta done it. Why didn’t I? Why didn’t_ we, _for Chrissakes? She was our ma._ _This was the best we could do for her?_

But even as he thought that, he knew how she would have reacted if he and his brothers had even suggested such a thing: she would have dismissed them out of hand, and if they had insisted, she would have grown angry. _She never liked to take help from anyone. It just about killed her havin to go to the church for charity for us, and she wouldn’t have stood for it from her sons._ But still there must have been something they could do ….

Sunk in his thoughts as he was, Scout’s old instincts had kicked back in as he navigated through the familiar streets, amplified by his new combat experience; he found himself scanning his surroundings for danger. Most of the people bustling around him were familiar types: drab, shabbily clad men and women just trying to make it to work or home or the liquor store. Some kids, playing in the streets with whatever toys they could improvise. But then …

Almost without conscious thought, his gaze zeroed in on three toughs lounging on the corner of a narrow side-street. To all intents and purposes, they seemed to be absorbed in their own pursuits – looking over a dirty magazine, girl-watching, taking gulps from a bottle of whiskey – but Scout had seen that arrangement before and he knew what it meant. Even as he watched, an old woman, clutching her purse to her, scuttled past the toughs – giving them a wide berth and several frightened looks – and turned into the side street.

The three punks traded glances so subtle that Scout could only catch them because he had been expecting them. Then, as if by coincidence, all three of them straightened from where they had been lounging and, elaborately casual, drifted down the alleyway after her.

A white-hot flare of rage burst behind Scout’s eyes, so sudden and so strong he almost reeled with it. _Those fuckin’ sons of bitches --_ His fingers tightened around his baseball bat hard enough to hurt, and he sprinted into motion, startling the passers-by as he bounded across the street on a diagonal to the entrance of the alleyway.

He skidded to a halt at the alley’s mouth, squinting into the gloom to let his eyes adjust. He could make out the three big guys at the far end, surrounding and menacing the old woman, who was backed up against a brick wall and quivering in fright. All three of them had knives out and looked ready to use them.

“What … what do you want?” she sobbed.

“Ya purse, lady. Give it!”

“Please … please,” the old woman cried in a tremulous voice. “This is all the money I have for the whole week. If you take it I don’t know what I’m going to do – “

“Dat’s youah problem, lady, not ouahs.” One of them brandished his blade at her. Hand it ovah!”

That bright flash of anger flared again, even more intense.

“ _Hey!”_ Scout shouted, and swung his bat hard, smashing it against a wrought-iron stair rail so that it rang like a bell. The sound startled the little knot of people at the end of the street, and they looked up to see him.

“Dis youah idea of a faih fight?” he challenged, his voice ringing off the alley walls. “Da t’ree a you ‘gainst one little ol’ lady? Man, dis neighbahood has gone downhill. In my day da punks round heah had some standahds.”

The leader, a tall, broad-shouldered guy with longish, greasy brown hair and freckles splashed across a face pocked with acne scars, sneered at him. “Stay outta dis, ya little shit, unless ya want ya ass kicked up between ya ears.”

Scout snorted a laugh. “Bettah men dan you have tried an’ failed. Now I’m wahnin’ ya.” He smashed his bat against the stair rail again. “You leave heh alone, or else.”

“Oh yeah? Who’s gonna make us, baby-face, you?”

“See anyone else heah?” Scout felt a slow, hot grin stretch across his teeth. _Man, I needed dis._ He clenched his baseball bat. “Last wahnin, punks.”

“Awright, guys, dat’s it.” The three punks had all turned to face Scout now and the leader pointed at him with his blade. “Dis little shit needs a lesson in mannahs. Get ‘im!” And the three of them charged.

It wasn’t anything close to an even match. The punks he was facing were typical street toughs whose idea of even odds was the three of them against a little old lady, while Scout was a professional mercenary who engaged in lethal combat every day of his life – _and_ he was spoiling for a fight. It was over so fast he didn’t even realize what had happened until he heard the old lady scream and looked down to see his baseball bat covered in blood and three unmoving forms at his feet.

He was still standing there stupidly waiting for the toughs to respawn when the police car pulled up to the curb. Car doors slammed and Scout heard a voice shouting, “Drop the bat, son! Drop it now!”

As if by their own free will, his fingers unclenched. The bat fell to the ground with a dismal clunk. Scout stared at it and at the three bodies before him. _They’re not comin’ back,_ he thought. _They’re not comin’ back …_

“Hands on yer head, boyo,” a second voice commanded, this one a thick Irish brogue. Slowly Jeremy raised his hands to his head. Everything seemed to be a dream, nothing seemed to be real. In the distance he could hear a siren, and the sobbing of the old woman.

Footsteps, and then hands grasped his arms on either side. A cop pressed him up against the side of the cruiser and began to swiftly pat him down, reading him his rights in a cool, dispassionate manner. The other one clicked the cool steel of handcuffs around his wrists. Scout stared down at the black hood of the cruiser. The old woman, still weeping, was talking to the man who was cuffing him. “Officer O’Malley,” she sobbed, “this boy’s a hero. He saved me – those three men were trying to rob me and he showed up – I thought they were going to kill him – “

“That’s as may be, Mrs. Kelly,” said the cop with the brogue, in a not unfriendly manner, “but understand I’m seein’ t’ree dead men here an’ this one standin’ over ‘em with a baseball bat and not a scratch on ‘im. At the very least we’ve got to ask ‘im some questions. Now Officer Donovan there can take yer statement, an’ if ye come by the precinct – “

But Scout heard nothing more, as the officer who had patted him down pushed him into the back of the police car and slammed the door. As the car pulled away and into traffic, a leaden emptiness filled him. All he could think was,

_They didn’t come back._

* * *

**Souviens-toi qu’il est un enfant, souviens-toi qu’il est un enfant, Shirley, ma bien-aimée, je m’abstiendrai de le tuer pour votre bien …. :** _R_ _emember he is a child, remember he is a child, Shirley, my beloved, I will refrain from killing him for your sake_

**Shirley, mon amour, je suis ici :** _Shirley, my love, I am here_

**Je t’aime, mon amour.** __:_ I love you, my love_

**Une femme belle et passionée :** _A_ _beautiful and passionate woman_

**mon pauvre garçon :** _My poor boy_

**Je suis vraiment désolé, je peux tout expliquer, s’il te plait écoute moi :** _I am so sorry, I can explain everything, if you will just listen to me_


	4. Chapter 4

**Author’s note:** Final chapter. So it turned out there were only four chapters after all to this story. I might have some more stories after this one, or maybe not, depending on inspiration. We’ll see. 

* * *

The cops took him down to the station and allowed him his one phone call. The last thing Jeremy wanted to do right then was speak to either of the Spies, so he called the Beacon Hotel and asked to be put through to the room he shared with the other Scout. In a minute, his own voice came down the phone lines to him.

“ _Red? Is it you? Where are ya?”_

“Yeah, I … “ He paused, drew a breath. “I’m ah … Dere was a … a accident. I got arrested … I’m in jail. Tell the Spies, they’ll know what to do. Heah …. “ He gave Blue the phone number and address of the precinct and then quickly hung up over Blue’s squawked questions.

He was moved to an interrogation room where a detective came in and asked him some questions. Scout could barely follow what they were; he answered in monosyllables. Everything seemed very distant from him, none of it seemed real. The fluorescent light of the room gave him a terrible headache. 

Finally the detective gave up in apparent frustration, and he was taken out of the room and down the hall. The handcuffs were unlocked and he was pushed into a holding cell. Then, there was nothing to do but sit on the hard bunk and lean back against the cell wall, waiting. He closed his eyes, letting his head sink onto his chest as the sounds of the precinct blended into a meaningless blur. 

He sat that way for an undetermined length of time; he might even have dozed off a little. All he knew was that, when he opened his eyes again, Red Spy was standing before him, on the other side of the bars.

The tall Frenchman looked very tired and extremely depressed. A hesitance, an uncertainty hung about him that Scout had never seen in him before. _Guess it’s been a rough day for everyone,_ he thought distantly.

“Scout, what … I spoke to ze police, but what _‘appened_?”

Scout managed a shrug. “Dere was some tough guys. They was muggin’ an ol’ lady. I stopped ‘em.”

“But Scout, you – “ Spy stopped and glanced over his shoulder. Stepping closer to the bars, he said in an almost pleading undertone, “You _killed_ zem. ‘Ow – ‘ow could zis ‘appen?”

“Dunno. It just … kinda … did.” Scout tried to think back to that brief bright flash of the fight. “I guess … I guess I was thinkin’ it was like on the battlefield an’ they would respawn somehow. Only it wasn’t an’ they didn’t.” He swallowed hard.

Spy drew a deep breath. His head bowed and his shoulders slumped as if he was trying to bear up under a heavy burden. Perhaps it was a trick of the harsh overhead lighting, but Scout mused that he looked much older, as if he had aged ten years in the time since Scout had seen him last. Eventually he straightened. 

“Scout. I ‘ave spoken to Miss Pauling. I ‘ave told ‘er what ‘appened ‘ere, and she says she will take care of everything – “

“You told Miss Pauling?”

Spy shook his head. “I ‘ad to, Scout, eet was zat or leave you to rot in jail. I will see to eet zat she learns ze full story, but zat is for latair. For now, I ‘ave assured ze police captain zat I will be responsible for you. Come with me, back to ze hotel.”

“I doan’ wanna go ta no hotel, I wanna go _home_. Back ta New Mexico.” It just slipped out, yet as he said it, he realized it was true. He just wanted to go back to the battlefield where things were so much simpler and there were no such things as consequences, at least not ones he could not outrun. His breath hitched in his throat and he swallowed again. “I wanna see Engie an’ Snipah an’ Medic an’ Soldier – I just wanna go _home._ _Please_. Please, Spy, can we please just go home?”

Spy closed his eyes. “I know, Scout, _je comprends,_ but we cannot right now. We ‘ave to stay ‘ere a leetle longer. Zhust a leetle, Scout, I promise, and zen we can go home.” A police officer had come over and was unlocking the cell door. Spy stepped out of the way, and once again Scout thought he looked utterly exhausted, a thin, pale shadow of himself. “Come with me.” He held out his hand as the door opened. Scout stared at it for a long moment, wondering what to do with it; then took it and pulled himself up off the bench.

Scout trailed behind Spy as Spy spoke in low tones to various officers, doing whatever it was he needed to do to get Scout released. _My ma,_ Scout was thinking. _If she saw me now – here in jail – bein arrested --_ And suddenly he was glad she couldn’t see this. 

A thought came to him as they exited the doors of the police station and he grabbed Spy by the arm in a panic.

“Spy – if Miss Pauling ‘takes care’ of dis – she won’t ‘take care’ of dat ol’ lady I saved, will she? Doan’ let her – please doan’ let her do that.” It was well known Miss Pauling’s methods of dealing with things tended toward the lethal – mostly out of necessity -- although what Spy could do to stop her, Scout didn’t know.

Spy paused on the steps and looked down at him, those piercing ice blue eyes shadowed and unreadable. “ _Non,_ ” he said. “I do not think she will, but een any case I will not let ‘er, Scout. I give you my word.”

“Awright. Awright then.” Scout felt himself sag in relief. Spy looked at him a moment longer, and then beckoned.

“Come.”

Scout thought Spy was going to call a cab for them, but instead he started walking. It was twilight, and the streets were emptying of people. Scout might have been worried; but the way back to the hotel was not through any particularly bad neighborhoods, and besides it had been more than proven today that the mercenaries were a match for any street toughs. He kept his mouth shut and trailed along after the Frenchman like a cloak dragged on the ground.

After a block or two, Spy spoke. “Scout.”

“Yeah, what is it, Frenchie?” Scout asked tiredly.

Spy was not looking at him. He pulled out a cigarette and lit it without breaking stride, then stopped. As if struck by a thought, he turned, and hesitantly extended his cigarette case to Scout.

Scout frowned quizzically and waved it away. “I don’t smoke, Frenchie. You know that. I like my lungs too much.” As he said that, a chill passed over him. He looked up at the other man. “You should cut dat shit too, ya know. Like, yestiday.”

The ghost of a smile tugged at Spy’s lips, but his eyes remained solemn and shadowed. He leaned up against a brick wall, still smoking. Scout settled down on a set of cement steps next to him, watching the cars come and go in the street. The thought occurred to him that in certain areas of Boston, people might see the two of them and come to some unsavory conclusions; he quickly pushed it away.

“Scout,” Spy said presently. “I … I ‘ave been theenking.”

“Yeah, well, guess what, I doan’ care,” Scout said sullenly. Spy didn’t even seem to notice.

“I ‘ave been theenking about … about things zat I ‘ave done, zat I should ‘ave done, and … and zat I wished I ‘ad done.”

Scout shifted on the cold, hard steps. “Yeah, well, now I really doan’ care.” 

Now Spy glanced at him and there was a flicker of hurt in those pale eyes. Scout was surprised to see him actually drop his gaze.

“I know zat … zat I ‘ave made many, many mistakes in my life. I ‘ave not cared for what I should ‘ave, I ‘ave done things without thinking of zose who would be ‘urt by zem, without thinking of ze consequences …. My -- my own fathair, ‘e …. “ Scout glanced up sharply, in time to see Spy close his eyes and shake his head. “But I cannot change ze past, Scout. I _cannot._ As much as I might wish to … all zat I can do is, is try to do bettair in ze future. Scout, I am sorry. I am sorry for what I ‘ave done, to you and to your mother. _Please …._ “

He turned to Scout now, and there was a strange helplessness in his face, something Scout had never seen in Spy for as long as he had known him. “Please, Scout. I ask … please.”

Scout was silent. A tough knot of emotions tightened in his chest. At last he looked back at the other man. “Yah still nothin’ ta me, Spy.”

It was as if Scout had just slapped him. Spy actually flinched. He started to speak, but Scout held up a hand. “I ain’t done. 

“Yah nothin ta me right _now_. Maybe … I dunno.” He shrugged. “Maybe that’ll change. But it’s gonna take time. I’m still too mad at ya. Latah – we’ll see. That’s all I’m sayin. We’ll see.” He suddenly exhaled, a long shuddering sigh that seemed to carry with it the weight of all the tension he had felt the last few days. “I doan’ even wanna think about it now. An’ screw you for pullin’ this shit on me now of all times. Screw you.” But the last words were said without heat; Scout didn’t have it in him to manage anger at the moment.

Spy closed his eyes and nodded. “I understand. _Merci.”_

“Yeah, _gracias,_ whatevah.” Scout scowled. Then glanced up at Spy again, and indicated his cigarette. “Ya know, I wasn’t kidding when I said you should cut dat shit.”

Spy held his cigarette up, examined it, looked at Scout again, and then tossed it to the pavement and ground it out with the toe of his wing-tip.

“Bettah,” Scout said grudgingly. “So, we done heah?”

 _“Oui._ We … we are done, Scout.”

“Awright then.” Scout gave a feral grin and then suddenly dropped into a starting position. “Race ya back ta the hotel.”

* * *

Just as Scout had expected, Spy didn’t even try to compete with him; Scout quickly outdistanced him. It was early evening by the time he got back to the hotel. It had been a long day, and Scout was exhausted physically, mentally and emotionally. He just barely had the energy to stagger to the elevator and upstairs to his and Blue’s room. Blue was waiting to pepper him with concerned questions, but Scout just waved him off. He made straight for his bed and collapsed onto it without even bothering to take off his shoes; he was asleep within seconds.

He woke the next morning feeling somewhat refreshed but physically sore and stiff, as well as disheveled and gross from sleeping in his clothes all night. The other bed was empty; Blue was already up. Scout climbed out of bed, took a quick shower, pulled on fresh clothing, and made his way down to breakfast.

Blue was waiting for him. “Yo, Red, what th’ hell happened yestiday? That call about gettin’ arrested, an’ then that asshole Spy said – “

“Ehhh, Spy ain’t so bad. Cut ‘im some slack,” Scout muttered, though he didn’t know why he was bothering to defend the man. Blue stared at him in surprise, but Scout ignored him. His stomach was growling; he went to the steam tables and loaded his plate with eggs, bacon and toast. “An’ I doan’ wanna talk about it. Maybe – maybe latah. But not now.”

“Well – all right,” Blue said dubiously. “But anyway – lissen, Red. I talked to my ma yestiday and she said she wants to see you.”

“What?” Scout looked up in confusion.

“Yeah. She apparently knew yah ma befoah – “ Blue stopped uncertainly. “Well, anyway, when I told her – when I told her, she said she wanted you ta come by. We can go as soon as you finish breakfast if dat’s all right.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I guess so.” Scout shrugged. He couldn’t guess why Blue’s ma would want to see him.

“Okay great. Th’ shuttle’ll be heah in fifteen minutes. Think you can make dat?”

“Sure.” 

Scout began gulping down his breakfast, which wasn’t hard because he was hungry enough to eat the plate. He finished and was out the door just in time for him and Blue to catch the shuttle to the hospital.

A weird feeling of _déjà vu_ crept over Scout on the ride in; it was much like his first visit to the hospital. _Except this time – the worst has already happened._ The gnawing dread had been replaced with a strange, aching emptiness. His eyes went to Blue, who was looking out the window, and he wondered what on earth Blue’s ma wanted with him. Somehow he was reluctant to ask.

They jumped off the shuttle at the door, and Scout followed Blue in, still wondering. He waited, feeling a heavy weight on his shoulders, as Blue checked in at the front desk, and then he followed Blue upstairs. A strange apprehension gripped him as he climbed the steps, an anxiety that he couldn’t place. 

Much like his own ma, Blue’s ma was at the far end of the hall from the stairs. Scout followed Blue down the hall, that uncomfortable awkwardness building. “Ya _sure_ this is all right?” he asked.

Blue glanced back over his shoulder. “Yeah, she said she wanted ta see you.”

“Okay Then.” Scout shrugged.

They halted at the door that read 201, and Blue knocked on it. “Ma? Ma it’s me.”

And from behind the door came a voice, so familiar that Scout’s breath caught in his throat. “ _Jeremy? Come right in!”_

Blue opened the door, and there was his ma.

She was lying in bed, looking so much like Scout’s ma the other day that Scout had to pinch himself to remind himself it wasn’t her. Except that she somehow looked less frail, more _there_ than his ma had. She smiled at the two of them as they came in, and Scout had to look away. _It’s not her, it’s not her,_ he tried to remind himself. _It’s not her –_

Blue glanced at him uncertainly, and then went to the side of the bed and kissed her cheek. “Hi ma,” he said. “Dis is my – my friend, th’ one I was tellin’ ya about. I brought him. Just like ya asked.”

“Aw, so thoughtful of ya,” Blue’s ma said. She turned to Scout, and again Scout had to pinch himself. “And it was so nice of you ta come, an’ at such a time too. Such a well-brought-up boy.”

“Yeah, well – “ Scout shifted from foot to foot. He indicated Blue, not sure what to call him – calling him “Blue” would sound weird and somehow Scout couldn’t bring himself to call him Jeremy. “He said you wanted ta see me, so – “

“I did, young man.” She looked him up and down, and then turned to her son. “Jeremy.” It took Scout a moment to realize she wasn’t talking to him. “Go wait outside. I need to talk to dis young man for a minute.”

“Okay, Ma,” Blue said. He looked at Scout with shadowed eyes, and then stepped out of the room, closing the door behind him. Scout hovered awkwardly by the wall, unsure of what to do.

“C’mere. Siddown, young man,” Laverne said, pointing to a chair by the side of the bed. Scout wordlessly obeyed her. Laverne studied him kindly. 

“You do look so much like my Jeremy,” she said. “Your name is Jeremy too, isn’t it? My boy said it was.”

“Yeah,” Scout said.

“It’s a good name foh ya. You could be twins.” She smiled then. “Gimme ya hand, Jeremy.”

When she took one of Scout’s wrapped hands in her own, a shiver passed over him. Something started to loosen inside him at her warm, comforting touch.

“My boy tol’ me about your ma,” she said. “I was so sorry t’ heah about heh passin.”

Jeremy murmured something appropriate. That loosening thing inside him was growing, and his eyelids began to prickle slightly.

“How ya holdin’ up, hon?”

The kindness in her voice struck him like a blow to the back of the head. He drew a long, careful breath.

“I – uh – “ He stopped, trying to get a grip. “I’m hangin in theah.”

Those kind blue eyes studying him could have been his own ma’s, they were so similar; and somehow that thought made the awful sensation in his chest worse. She tightened her grip on his hand.

“Are ya? Well, that’s good. I know it’s rough on a boy ta lose his ma. Sons need theah mothas, jus’ like liddle girls need theah daddies. I don’ think they evah really stop, not really.”

Jeremy didn’t answer. The stinging in his eyes was getting worse, and had moved down to his nose. He found himself blinking rapidly.

“Poor boy.” The gentle caring in her voice surrounded him like a warm and soothing blanket. “Ya know, your ma an’ I came into th’ hospital at th’ same time, an we got ta be friends.”

“Y-yeah?” Jeremy stared down at his hand clutching hers. Clutching his ma’s. Her hand was slender and fine-boned, just like his ma’s, with work-roughened skin – just like his ma’s. His own, larger hand was wrapped around hers so tightly he must have been hurting her, but somehow he couldn’t loosen his fingers; if he was causing her pain, she didn’t show it.

“Yeah. We tol’ each othah all about ouah boys – she tol’ me so much about you I almost feel like I already know ya.”

 _Imagine that,_ Jeremy wanted to say, started to by sheer reflex – and suddenly stopped, appalled to find that he did not trust himself to speak. _Blink, blink._ His vision was starting to blur.

“Yeah,” she said again, as if he had spoken. “She tol’ me all about you an’ your bruddahs … dey all sounded just so much like my boys. It was really surprising.’

A single drop fell from somewhere onto the cloth strips Jeremy wrapped around his hands to help with gripping his bat. He lifted his free hand and dashed at his eyes with the back of it. Laverne kindly pretended not to notice.

“Ya know, neidah of us was scared a’ dyin when we went inta surgery. If it was ouah time, it was, dat’s all. Ev’ryone’s gotta pass th’ Pearly Gates eventually, an’ if th’ Lord decided to call us home, well, who were we to argue? But what did scare us was the thought of leavin our boys behind without theah mothas ta love dem.”

Another drop fell on Scout’s wrapped hands, then a third. There was a blockage in his throat somehow making it difficult to breathe.

“So Shirley said ta me, ‘Laverne, our boys are so much alike, let’s make an agreement. If one a’ us doesn’t make it, th’ othah one will kinda step in, and watch ovah her boys for her. I know you got room enough in your heart for my boys, and I sure do for yours. An’ dat way, each of us can feel bettah, knowin’ that if something happens, her boys’ll be taken care of.”

Jeremy swallowed hard. He couldn’t speak. The world trembled through a film of liquid in his eyes.

“Jeremy, honey, look up at me.” Her free hand gripped his chin and tipped his head up so that he was looking directly into her eyes. His ma’s eyes.

“I made a deathbed promise ta your ma, Jeremy, an’ I meant it. I’ll do my best ta care for you like you was my own. I doan’ think that’ll be hard from what your ma told me. But howevah ya want, I’ll be theah foh you. Understand?”

Jeremy was caught by her determined gaze. He saw something there he recognized – powerful maternal tenderness coupled with a fierce protective spirit: the same spirit that had enabled his own ma to raise eight sons by herself in the slums of Boston and manage to keep them out of the clutches of the streets. That same fierce protectiveness that had sheltered him all his life, and now – now here it was again, looking out at him from the eyes of a different woman, yet no less strong for that. And in that moment, Scout received perhaps the dimmest inkling of the strength and fire that had drawn Spy to his mother so many years ago.

That heavy thing in his chest grew and grew. and all of a sudden a terrible sob ripped its way out of Scout’s throat. Hot tears gushed down his cheeks. He gulped another breath, and another wail tore its way out of him. It was as if he were seven years old again, and had fallen off the stairs and cut his lip; and he was crying desperately for the one person who could always make everything better. 

_“I want Ma!”_ he wailed. _“I want my Ma!_ ”

“I know. I know.” Laverne reached out and pulled him into an embrace, pressing his hot face against her cool cheek. “I know it hurts. I’m heah foh ya. My boy. My strong, handsome boy.”

* * *

The next couple of weeks were an exhausting blur. There were so many things to do, preparing for his mother’s funeral and organizing the loose ends of her life, that he barely had a moment to think, let alone grieve. The staff at the local church, St. Joseph, was a huge help, but Scout was still almost completely overwhelmed by the huge issues confronting him.

Things got better when his brothers began arriving back from overseas, one by one: first James, then Brian, then Michael and Neil together, lastly David and Barry. Better – but also worse; as both the youngest and the littlest, Jeremy had never been taken seriously by his brothers, and now was no exception. He found himself almost effortlessly shunted to the side, as his brothers apparently assumed without a word being said that he would be completely incapable of helping with anything at all. Old patterns of behavior he’d forgotten about or thought he’d put behind him started rising to the surface; finally, when James told him dismissively, “Get lost, squirt, ya too little for dis,” Jeremy lost his temper enough to actually tackle his older brother, who had six inches and fifty pounds on him. After James knocked him down, to the laughter of his other brothers, Jeremy stormed out, furious – and hurt as well. He’d thought, somehow, maybe, things had changed – that after so long, they’d actually start listening to him, treating him like a grown-up, instead of their little runty kid brother. _Guess not,_ he thought unhappily.

He found he couldn’t really relate to them anymore, anyway. There was a gap, of years and experience, that he didn’t know how to bridge; even with Barry, the brother closest to him in age. All of them, himself included, had been in combat – but their experiences had been so different from his, and there were so many things that none of them, himself included, could or would talk about. It imposed a distance over them all, leading to strained conversations and awkward silences. Jeremy started dropping by the hospital just to see Blue and Laverne; at least Blue understood, and there was something about Laverne that hurt, but somehow made him feel better.

Laverne had sent sympathy cards from her hospital bed to all six of his brothers, with the help of Blue and Blue Spy, explaining how she had met their mother in the hospital and how the two of them had bonded over concerns for their sons. Barry, Michael and Neil actually came to visit her, and were taken aback at just how much she looked like their ma – though since Laverne was still frail and recovering, and they had last seen their ma when she was healthy and strong, they were not as struck by the resemblance as they could have been. Laverne said she would write them regularly if they would like, and Barry agreed on behalf of all of them. “It’s real nice ta get lettahs from home, ma’am, an’ now that – “ He broke off, swallowing hard, and Laverne patted his hand.

“Call me Laverne,” she said warmly. “An’ you bettah write me back regularly too, ya undahstand? Doan’ make an ol’ lady worry.” 

His brothers chorused their promises, and Scout, watching, thought, _It’s a start_.

The funeral was held on a Sunday in St. Joseph’s church. Scout’s brothers were there, and all his ma’s church friends, most of whom Scout hadn’t seen in years. What really surprised him was just how many people, including complete strangers, came up to him or to his brothers after the service to say a few words about how they had known his ma – how she had been such a good friend, how she had helped them out one time or another, how much they had admired her. It seemed as if she’d known and helped just about everyone in the entire parish, and Jeremy was moved by the depth of feeling she’d left behind.

Spy did not attend the funeral; when Jeremy had asked him, he’d only shaken his head. He wasn’t smoking – Jeremy had noticed Spy was making an effort not to smoke around him so much -- but he’d looked like he really wanted to.

“Ze funeral – it is for friends and family,” he’d said. “I am neither. I do not belong zere. Eet would be … ‘ow you say, inappropriate.”

“No it wouldn’t,” Jeremy pestered. “C’mon, Spy. For my ma.”

Spy glanced at him. _“Non,”_ he said curtly, and looked away. And that was his last word on the subject.

The day after the funeral, he got a call to come in to the police precinct. Spy came with him this time. They asked him some more questions, and then the precinct captain informed him that they had several sworn statements -- from the old woman he’d saved, Mrs. Kelly, as well as several passersby -- that the three toughs had indeed been mugging the old woman and had attacked Scout when he tried to stop them. So it seemed to be a clear-cut case of self-defense, and there would be no charges. “Hell, the mayor’ll probably wanna give you a medal,” the captain said, smiling. Even without Spy stepping on his foot, Scout knew enough to simply nod and keep his mouth shut – and wonder how much Miss Pauling’s influence had played in the decision.

Scout left to fly back to New Mexico a couple days later. He was the first of his brothers to leave, but Neil and Brian left the day after him, and David the day after that. James was staying behind to wrap up loose ends. Scout had never thought he would be so glad to touch down and step out into the warm summer sun, and to see Engie’s battered truck waiting for him on the tarmac with the soft-spoken Texan behind the wheel, raising one hand in greeting.

“’Dja get the carburetor fixed, Engie?” Scout asked, jumping into the truck and settling himself into the back.

“Yeah, just gotta keep Soldier away from it, no tellin’ _what_ he’d do next,” Engie said with a chuckle, backing the truck up and pulling out onto the road. And Scout leaned back against the wall of the truck, closing his eyes and thinking, _I’m going home._

Within a couple days back, it was as if he’d never been away. He was plunged back into the stream of life on the RED team, with battles to fight, points to cap, briefcases to steal, payloads to escort, and the ceaseless round of life-death-respawn. Days turned into weeks, turned into months – punctuated by letters and phone calls to Laverne now instead of his ma. Scout missed her deeply, but being able to talk to Laverne helped a bit. He and Blue even started cautiously hanging out after hours now and then, careful to keep their tentative friendship unobtrusive; both of them knew the Administrator strongly discouraged cross-team friendships. They had the example of Blue Soldier and Red Demoman as proof.

Finally the weather turned cooler, even in New Mexico, and strings of colored lights began appearing around the base, adorning weapons and even hats. Scout himself, in honor of the season, switched to his Festive bat and scattergun, and Blue did the same thing. _Yeah, definitely gettin’ to be that time of year,_ he thought to himself, wrapping the lights around his bat.

The day’s battle had gone well, ending with Scout crashing a baseball bat into the skull of his rival and stopping him from taking the intelligence. As the ending siren sounded and the light drained from the sky, he headed back to the warmth of the base, content in the knowledge that Engie was once again on kitchen duty and a good dinner awaited. 

It turned out to be enchiladas this time, with refried beans and Spanish rice, and Scout devoured four of them with a huge slab of cornbread. Afterward, he challenged Pyro to a game of catch – the little creature’s airblast made catch with him much more fun and challenging than usual – and had just tossed the ball when a clattering came from the top of the stairs.

 _“Scout! Call!”_ Engie’s voice floated down.

Scout dodged Pyro’s return and called back, _“Who is it?”_

_“It’s Laverne!”_

_“Laverne?”_ Scout scooped up the ball and pocketed it. “Gotta take dis, Pyro, but don’t go nowheah – I’ll be back in no time.”

“Mmph!” Pyro nodded and shot Scout a thumbs-up in response.

Scout bounded up the stairs and snatched the phone from Engie with a careless, “Thanks, Hardhat.” He pressed the receiver to his ear, already focusing his attention down the line.

“Laverne?”

“Hiya Scout,” came the voice, so familiar to him. “Aww, so good ta heah ya voice! You sound well.”

“Yeah. Heah’s somethin’ foh ya.” Scout paused, and then carefully pronounced, “ _Joy-oos Noh-well!_ ”

“Ooh, what is that?”

“It’s French for ‘Merry Christmas.’ I been gettin’ Frenchie ta teach me a few words.”

“You’re so smaht! I’m happy the two of you are getting along. I wish Jeremy would do da same with his Pierre, it would be so much bettah for them both.”

“Yeah. It ain’t easy,” Scout admitted. “I doan’ really blame him. It wasn’t easy for me, but, well. Ya can’t stay mad forevah after all.”

“Maybe you can talk to Jeremy a little, see if you can get him ta see dat?”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Scout promised.

“Anyway I called ‘cause I was gonna ask if you was comin home foh Christmas? Ya know, it’s just around th’ cornah. I think Jeremy’s th’ only othah one who can make it back, an’ it would be nice ta have you two boys home with me for th’ holidays. Whaddaya say?”

“Dat’d be great! If accourse you’re sure it’s not too much trouble – “

“No trouble at all, I’d be glad ta have ya! Unless you got othah plans – “

“Nah, my aunt Lucy was gonna have all of us, an I can go for paht of the time, but I’d rathah spend Christmas with you than anything.”

“Aunt Ethel foh us,” Laverne said, laughing. “All right, that’s great ta heah, and I’ll get da cot out an’ ready foh ya.”

“Lookin fohwahd to it.” Scout paused. “Okay, I gotta go. See ya in a few days, Laverne.”

“Perfect.” She chuckled. “I’ll expect you home foh Christmas then. Dere’ll be a nice Christmas dinnah waitin’ foh ya with all da trimmins. Bye now.”

“Bye, Laverne.” There was a *click* and Scout set the phone down.

Engie was banging away on a dispenser nearby. He looked up at Scout. “Good news?”

“Yeah,” Scout said, smiling. “Goin’ home for Christmas.”

“Well that’s great ta hear.” Engie smiled at him. “It’s no fun bein’ alone over th’ holidays.” Scout said nothing; he knew Engie was one of the mercenaries who had nowhere to go. “You an’ Blue Scout both goin?”

“Yeah, I think so,” Scout said. “Her othah sons can’t make it an’ she said she’s lookin fohwahd ta seein’ both a’ us.”

“All right then. Don’t forget ta tell her ‘hi’ for us.”

“Will do.” Scout turned away and started down the stairs. That feeling of contentment was still in him, deepening and warming him against the chill of the desert night. His thoughts turned to the holidays ahead: to Laverne’s apartment, time spent with his rival and friend, a good Christmas dinner, Laverne’s happiness when he gave her the small gifts he’d purchased for her over the previous weeks. He paused on the stairs to look out a window at the starry sky, and whispered a brief prayer on behalf of his ma, his brother Patrick, and his other brothers, serving overseas far away from home. _Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night –_

Just then a ball went whizzing past, narrowly missing the side of his head. He whipped around to see Pyro, crouched at the bottom of the stairs looking up at him.

“Mmmph! Mrr mmmph mph mrr mmmpph mmph!”

“Awright, awright, Pyro, I haven’t fohgotten, I’m comin back,” Scout told the little guy. He scooped up the ball and bounded the rest of the way down the stairs, back to Pyro and the game of catch.

_Finis._


End file.
